[9] posthumous, con't
may 29
This MDW weekend was certainly one for the books as I road tripped out to New Mexico with @mistynthecity to meet her family and explore a state I’d barely made a footprint in prior. White Sands was more dazzling than can be translated into photos and this weekend was the first time in a long time that I’ve felt like I could breathe again. Literally. For the past month or so, my heartbreak over my Dad’s death has been insurmountable. My anxiety surged to the point that it was often arduous to catch my breath. And if you’ve had any sort of conversations with me in the past several weeks as we hit the 6-month mark since Dad’s departure from earth, my sadness was more than evident and I was desperate to make it subside.
My roommate Misty and I drove a total of 20+ hours on this venture and the open road combined with good music and nonstop conversation began to mitigate this heaviness I had started to think was here to stay. And then, the parallels to my Dad’s life in New York I would find in New Mexico were striking.
Misty’s grandparents names are Bud and Lois. My Dad’s parents names? Bud and Lois. We were sitting with Lois in a cute coffee shop when “Here Comes the Sun” (one of the many Beatles songs that served as inspiration for my sun tattoo I inked right after Dad’s services) played. Hours later and many miles away, as we were exiting Carlsbad Caverns, a white Chrysler Lebaron was sitting outside. A decade and a half ago, my Dad reluctantly sold his white Chrysler Lebaron and we never stopped hearing about his remorse. And this past Friday, the white Chrysler Lebaron parked in Carlsbad, New Mexico just happened to have New York plates. On Saturday, we attended a family get-together in a residence Misty hadn’t seen yet. It was covered, from the mailbox to the rug to the bathroom decor, in Buffalo Bills paraphernalia in the home of rural New Mexico’s biggest (and potentially only) Bills fan. Many moments made me stop in my tracks and my heavy and hapless emotions were finally able to subside. This trip was special.
I oscillate over how I feel about signs. I’m aware that if I had stayed in Texas this weekend, the Bills decor would still have been present in Artesia, New Mexico and the song would have came on at the cafe without me and the car would have still been at the caverns and Misty’s Bud and Lois were always named Bud and Lois. But for some cosmic reason, for each experience, I was there. And we ended the trip in these wondrously, breathtaking sands that I couldn’t help but compare to Heaven. I wish more than anything I could show Dad my ventures and that my roommate could meet my Dad, just as I met hers. But just maybe, in this aesthetically unreal and sublime place, he was along for the ride the whole time 🔅.
'Little darling, it seems like years
Since it's been clear.
Here comes the sun,
Here comes the sun,
And I say
It's all right'
june 20
I spent the last week and a half up north in my childhood home where the backyard now holds two planted trees, one in memory of my little brother and the other in memory of my Dad. The trees are behind the Barkwood Lane home that once held the family of four that is now down to a family of two in the physical sense. It’s equally as hard to be home as it is to be away from home. The memories in the house that Mom, Dad Jeremy and I lived in both haunt and comfort me, push and pull me, and it’s a conundrum that only a microscopic population can understand. Those in the severe grief club. A club we would do anything to have never been admitted to.
They say you don’t know your own strength until being strong is your only choice. Sometimes I have it. But Father’s Day was next to impossible and I honestly didn’t possess the strength to see all of your jubilant posts in celebration of your Dads when I couldn’t have mine, and so I chose to disconnect for days. Grief, I’ve learned, as anyone in this harrowing club has learned, is as nonlinear as can be.
As I look at this photo I took last night, I remember how one year ago I shocked my parents as I walked up this very driveway for a surprise visit after a rough round of chemo for Dad. I look at this and remember how we were the jubilant ones last year.
I went to the cemetery for the first time since the burial but I’m pretty sure you’re not there, Dad. I’m pretty sure you’re somewhere in that incandescent sky or amongst those budding trees or maybe were even by my side when your picture frame fell over with no rhyme or reason. And I’m surely sure that seven months and one day since you left me and Mom here on earth I miss you more than I thought possible. But as I told you in hospice, I would gladly take 28 years with you as my Dad than double that long with anyone else. Maybe you and Jeremy celebrated your first Father’s Day on the other side together ♥️.
Thank you to all who reached out and made Sunday slightly bearable. I just have to look up and hope that just like Lucy, Dad’s in the sky with diamonds ♥️.
‘Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
with tangerine trees,
and marmalade skies’
july 16
When Dad was in hospice I asked him where he wished he had gotten to in life. Red Rocks, Colorado was his number two answer. And it just so happens that @coreypvg ‘s beautiful, spunky younger cousin Willow was supposed to be at a show at Red Rocks just this past weekend. Cancer took them both within 2 months last winter and so on this superb summer day, Corey and I took them with us to the Colorado sights they had longed to see. ♥️
So many roads I know,
Mountain high, river wide,
So many roads to ease my soul
august 19
Mid August means we’re sandwiched in between Jeremy’s and Dad’s birthdays. My brother unexpectedly left this earth after 16 short trips around the sun and my Dad after 61, which felt almost as short.
Dad promised me 100 birthdays but lost his short Cancer battle with superfluous money in the bank intended for plans for the rest of those 39 promised years. I will forever feel overwhelmingly cheated out of enough time as a family of four as well as consistently terrified that if I don’t go-do-fly-see everything now-now-now-now, I may never get to. It can be over the top sometimes and I’m increasingly well aware of that.
When a plane is on the brink of takeoff I close my eyes and silently ask my brother and my four grandparents to keep the flight safe and it’s been overwhelmingly surreal adding my Dad’s name to that silent plea.
I journeyed to the Cliffs of Moher on a sunny day in 2013 and Dad was fascinated with the photos my and anecdotes and I wish I had the opportunity to send him these rainy day pics from five years later and could yet again call them tremendous and make a Dad joke about luckily not falling over the edge. It’s ineffable how many times I’ve been about to send daily travel pics to a group chat with both of my parents and I’m stopped in my tracks when I remember I no longer can. I sit on planes and trains and automobiles and wonder what my brother would be like at 24 and try to erase the memories of Dad’s 61st, as this time last year he was nearing the end of his battle. And so I try to replace those harrowing memories with majestic views like the Cliffs in the rain.
As for Dad and Jeremy, happy August birthdays♥️, we grouped them into one celebration for 16 years and maybe there’s another combined celebration in that radiant place I so hope you both are. As for me, I’ll keep trying to live out the adventures you missed out on. As for this trip, I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again.
One day you’ll look to see I’ve gone,
But tomorrow may rain so I’ll follow the sun ☀️
august 31
Happy birthday Dad ♥️. Today should be your 62nd and we should be celebrating another year of the fulfilling life of Steve Ragan. Last year despite your severe physical limitations that came along with Brain Cancer, we took the Mustang (top down) to Trata for dinner with Mom and talked about plans for your remaining (hopeful) years. We talked about me flying back in the upcoming weeks to celebrate fall together with the Charlie Brown special and witches brew, as per tradition.
What we didn’t know last August 31st while downing pasta downtown was that you had less than 3 months left here with us. Your birthday was the last time I would see you outside of our house aside from inside the walls of the hospital and hospice where we had umpteen conversations about life and the meaning of it and regrets and favorite memories and how to truly, truly live. Those talks will stick with me forever and a day.
I’m trying to get to a place where I smile and your memory is a contented one when I so very often think of you. Trying very hard, actually, but please excuse me if it takes me as long as it took you to (jokingly..?) accept me dating someone who went to Syracuse, Saint Bonaventure’s rival or as long as you boycotted Ragu spaghetti sauce when they moved their HQ out of your beloved Rochester. But I’ll get there. Today I’m working towards finishing this Masters degree, one of your last adamant wishes for me. Today I’m working diligently on being strong without you, your biggest fear about leaving us here.
Today the sun is shining over Spencerport and I had a Wegmans donut like you would always get me on my birthdays and the Bills were victorious last night for you and tonight we’re going for garbage plates and bowling in your honor. Speaking of honor, it was a tremendous (your fave word) honor to have you as my Dad. Maybe you’re doing your corny Dad dance to the Beatles birthday song up there and celebrating with Spags and a Genny brew. We’re staying strong for you down here. ♥️ Happy 62nd, Daddio. Love always, your little girl.