The first ten days after my dad passed away are a complete blur. If I didn't write it down, I'm not really sure it happened. I mean, I remember all of the things that happened, but I'm not exactly sure what kind of timeline in which they happened. Like I said, I bought Cal some new shoes the morning that my Dad died. A week later I was staring at his shoes wondering why the heck they still looked so new.
It felt like it had been AT LEAST a month since I bought the shoes.
Since life was normal.
A beautiful memorial service was held in his honor on the 23rd of October, and so many people had so many nice things to say, and so many funny stories to tell.
My brother and I decided that my Dad would be super happy if there was beer at his memorial, so after the church services we got good and drunk. (Like, when the beer was gone we were drinking wine---out of the bottle in his case, lol, yeah, that kind of drunk!)
So many people that I had never met were approaching me and telling me silly things like, "You have no idea how much your dad loved you." And I would say something along the lines of "Um, yes, I do". If there was one thing my Dad was good at, it was telling me how much he loved me.
Ya wanna know how much?
THIS much times infinity.
That is a WHOLE LOT!!!!!
He may not have always been around to show me how much he loved me, but he certainly always found a way to tell me. He was my biggest fan, and to him, I was the bees knees.
Last Wednesday I went down to Merced with the thought that I was going to spend the day there cleaning out his house. Ugh, yeah, that didn't happen quite as I had planned.
When I arrived to town I went to the funeral home first. I signed a paper and they gave me gift bag containing my Dad's remains. Cremains. I walked around my car, fumbling. Should I go to my side of the car? Should I go to the passengers side of the car? Where the heck do I put him? Hmmmm. I opted to put him in the backseat. And buckle him in. And drive him to his house.
I was no where near done cleaning, or sorting, or packing at the end of the day.
Not even kinda.
So I took a couple boxes of my Dad's stuff, stopped by my Auntie's house to get his urn, put him in the front seat so he could ride shot gun, and I headed back to my mom's home to get my kids.
When the kids and I pulled up in front of our house Riss decided that she was going to carry Grandpa in. When I walked in the house after her she made the announcement that, "Grandpa is sitting on the couch." Funny, funny kid, she is. A bit later she brought me a book to read to her and she sat on the couch. I went to sit next to her and she says, "You can sit next to Grandpa." I laughed so freaking hard. My Dad was definitely smiling down from the heavens at all the silly talk.
My mom decided that she would go down there with me and the kids on this past Monday and we would get it done then. On the way down to Merced we stopped in Modesto to get my uncle, my dad's brother. Then we went to my Dad's place. Two of my other uncles showed up, and together, they got a whole lotta nothing done (I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Kinda.). I sorted through old bills, papers and junk, filling up 9 huge black garbage bags, packing up the Tahoe with some of the stuff that I wanted to take, and not much else. The day was mildly successful, and unfortunately, I'm not done. So my brother and I have dedicated Sunday to going down there and hammering it out.
I went to a storage facility today and rented a 5x5 storage so that I have a places secured just for his belongings. My garage is already full and I didn't feel like the kids needed to have the temptation there to go through the boxes. And believe me, they ARE tempted. One of their favorite pastimes with Grandpa Greg was doing art with him, so seeing the art supplies in those boxes, even just markers, is like putting cake in front of them and telling them not to eat it. It ain't gonna happen...