The beginning of after

We've known what was coming since February of 2008. We began to prepare, then prepared, then reviewed our preparations, then waited. And waited. And waited.

Living at home with my ailing father, whose health has crept along a continuum like wind teasing a measuring gauge, became normalized. I lived in the suburbs, bussed to campus, bussed to an unpaid internship, slowly built a social life and came home at night to spend time with my father and brother. In the last two months, I spent less time at work and more time at home. Then I started to forgo socializing, because dad didn't want to be left alone. Then it ate into school.

The last month was bad. Really bad. It caught up with him quickly - the waiting had ended, and then we just had to experience. One night I was nearly in tears: dad was confused, and obviously in pain. He woke up from fitful couple-minute naps, sat up, stood up, often started walking. But he didn't know WHERE he was walking. His bedroom had become cramped. His bed, the "Big Bed" from our childhood, sat in the middle of the room. Our well-intentioned but thoughtless aunt had arranged for a hospital bed to be delivered, and it took up the remaining space at the foot of the Big Bed. An oxygen machine sat wedged in between the Big Bed and the wall. He would start walking, but didn't know where to. Eventually I would guided him back to bed, and he would lie down for a couple more minutes fitful sleep. After two hours of this, he fell into a deeper sleep: the creases in his forehead disappeared, and I knew my opportunity for a bit of sleep arrived. He was tucked into the Big Bed, and I crawled under the blankets in the hospital bed. As exhaustion toyed with my Sleep Switch I played with peacefulness; anxiety drained from me for the first time all evening. And I realized that the situation was temporary. Yes, I had spent the last two nights up with dad. But it wouldn't last long. The nights were long, but the days would pass quickly, and soon there wouldn't be any more. I just needed to take a deep breath. We needed to take a deep breath.

We held his memorial service today. A gorgeous Saturday in Minnesota. A perfect reception hall in this suburb's brand-new hotel. Friends from every walk of life: his aging cousin from Massachusetts; our ophthalmologist of nearly 20 years; two of his bosses; dear family friends; my high school friends; an ex-boyfriend, and a current interest; his attorney; my co-workers. They ate and drank and toasted, and we watched the slide show put together by my aunt courtesy of iPhoto. On the way home, my car was full of gorgeous flowers, and a dozen envelopes labeled "The [Dad's name] family," "The [Mom's name] family," or "The Mom hyphen Dad's name family," depending on which of us they knew best.

From the memorial we had dinner, and then brought the video-game playing generation back to my house for our traditional Saturday stab at Rock Band, Venture Brothers and Leinenkugel appreciation. My dad loved the Saturday Gatherings. They made him feel young, he said week after week. I have no doubt they did, and the infusion of youth, foolishness, hormones and idealism kept his mind sharp, and off the topic of cancer.

Monday, mom leaves to go back to the west coast, back to my stepfather and her job. My brother might join her for a change of scenery. Sister will return to her urban apartment and the myriad of gentlemen begging for her attention. And I'll be in this house. I think that's when it will sink in.

I scanned through every photo on my computer this week for slide show fodder. It was magnificently cathartic; I was awash in photos of my dad as a healthy, able-bodied man, rather than the emaciated, confused one I saw every day of the last month. His eyes used to be bright and purposeful, his face round.

Trouble is, watching those photos of my shiny-eyed father all afternoon, photos in which he granted the camera a raw, unexpected smile made it that much harder to believe he's gone. He napped away most of his last month. What's to say he's not just napping now? This is really, really weird, and it's going to get weirder before it becomes normalized.