a sad goodbye.

Today, I buried my Dad.  I buried the man who taught me how to play golf.  The man who used to let me put his belt on for him before I even started kindergarten every single morning before he headed out the door to work. The man who married my beautiful, strong, forgiving, loving mom. The man who passed along his sensitive side, his goofy sense of humor, and his "Graves" genes (including his father's height and his nose). 

How come, no matter how much you prepare for a situation and anticipate its coming, it hits you as hard as a ton of bricks when the moment arrives? Probably because it doesn't matter that I anticipated what I was going to feel, I felt something completely different. I was supposed to be mad, angry, and bitter. And instead I'm just sad and full of regret. It was so easy to tell myself over the last few years that Dad's death would be easy because I didn't keep in touch with him really well anyway. But, on the contrary, it's so hard. It's hard because I didn't get to say goodbye. It's hard because I know that he tried to ask for forgiveness, but I couldn't ever give it because the pain that he caused me was too much. It's hard because I wish I could just hug him one last time and tell him, "I know you are struggling. And I know that even though you chose the alcohol and the separation over your family, you still love me anyway. And I love you, too, despite my hurt and my frustration and my pain." Now I know why people live their lives with regret after someone passes away. Because when you don't get the chance to say everything you wish you had said, you remember it. And it weighs heavy on your heart.

Do you think that God passes along prayers to those in Heaven who need to hear it? Do you think they have a call bell system up there? Maybe, when I pray from now on, I can say, "Hey God, ring for Dad", and he'll pick up the phone and we'll have a three-way call. Because I need to know that not only God hears my prayers, but Dad knows what I'm thinking in my heart, too.

The burial today was different than any burial I've ever been to in the past. It was casual and only family. We drove over to Mississippi to bury Dad with his parents today; just us family, the way Dad would have liked it. We stood around his grave site with the urn there on display, telling stories and reminiscing on Dad's life. He had a huge heart filled with huge amounts of pain. My family and I had difficult times in recent years, and often times I forget that Dad had difficult times, too. No one chooses to be an alcoholic. People choose to drink alcohol, but no one chooses for it to take over their life. I hope that the bad memories fade to the back and the good memories stand out from now on. I don't want to remember my Dad as the alcoholic. I want to remember my Dad as the man who made funny faces. The man who had a witty sense of humor. The man who listened to the CD player with earphones on while driving, and simultaneously laid on the horn without realizing it. The man who was dedicated at being a good lawyer. The man who took my mom to the symphony and thought she was the prettiest girl in the entire high school. That's the man I want to remember. That was my Dad. I had about fourteen good years with my Dad. I don't want the eight bad years to be the ones that count.


Daniel Benjamin Graves

October 18, 1957 - March 7, 2011.