Dad passed away quickly and somewhat unexpectedly early Thursday morning.  Although we knew that he likely had only months, over the past two weeks he declined dramatically. We had no time whatsoever to prepare or say goodbyes. Mom was called at 5:28 am shortly after his breathing become labored. She called us at 5: 37am. Christine and I made it to the nursing home across town  by 5:50 am. But dad had passed at 5:40 am....  at "dawn"... at the exact time of my birth - 5:40. 

I'm probably mostly still numb, although the grief comes and goes. It's like a lightening bolt or powerful wave that washes through me when I'm just talking or doing something else, and I suddenly remember he's gone.  I have a dull ache and it builds up enough to start bubbling over at least a couple of times a day to this point.  But there's been so much to do.  Amazingly I've breezed through the arrangments and planning for the funeral this Wednesday. So, it's been contained to a dull roar at most.

I  suspect I've been able to do that because it's what I have to do for my mom so she is  not burdened with any of these tasks. I will make this as easy as it can possibly be for her. She need and deserves it to be that way.  I'm doing it to honor her and my dad - I haven't been able to give them much lately. But I can do this for them.

I am truly thankful that I was here for this - it was certainly meant to be this way. Mom has been very sick over the past two weeks herself. She has been through too much with dad's illness over the past year. She is exhausted and has worried herself to her own  detriment. After a year of hell for me and of carrying lots of guilt for too many things, it's almost like I feel my heart trying to heal through this.

I'm where I am supposed to be.  To have this relationship with her now and be able to do anything to help her is healing me.  My heart hurts so much - but that's OK, I think.  It's the kind of hurt that happens when you are making something stronger after an injury.  Through all of this I am learning the true meaning of faith and hope. Christine and I both are.

It's been such a disorienting few months since leaving atlanta - at times it has felt so hard I questioned our decisions. I have been so sad to leave so many things, and with the injuries we've just been staying afloat. But now I really understand.  Because we are here, I was able to do something necessary and important on Thursday after dad passed  that mom was unable to do.  I can't actually believe she turned to me and asked me to do it. She's awful about asking for any help - especially from me. But thank god she did finally. 

 I  went for her to the funeral home to sign all the official papers, make all  the arrangements for the funeral services, and (as it turns out), make the legal "identification" of my father. 

Christine and I had already gone into his room to see him while waiting for my mom to make it there- and while waiting to tell her he had already passed. I don't know what I imagined that would be like - I don't think I really ever allowed myself to imagine that scene. It wasn't as  awful as I might have feared.  He looked......ok. He looked like he was sleeping. And Christine  and the nurse were with me. 

  But seeing him on the gurney at the funeral home and then being left alone in the stainless steel environment to say goodbye again was surreal.  Knowing that it was definitely the last time I would ever see his face hit hard.  I had no idea that this was going to happen  - I thought I had already said goodbye and gotten through that part in his room earlier.  I wasn't prepared when the funeral director stopped outside a door and asked if I wanted to see him before or after we discussed everything. Of course, I played it cool. Right. 

 It was hard and seems more shocking whenever I think back on it or tell the details to anyone. It didnt seem so overwhelming at the time, though, and I actually  felt good afterword - it was like some long overdue closure to so many things between my dad and I. I literally felt lighter.  I almost feel like his spirit hadn't fully let go when we were with him in his room. He was certainly deceased, but it felt entirely different after I left that final room. I haven't ever seemed to be here at the right time when he needed me in the past. But I was here this time. And he got what he always wanted - just to be with me.

When I think back, I can just say I'm glad I never had to know that I was going to have to do what I did Thursday. I am glad I didn't have to worry about doing something like that alone - And I would have NEVER believed that I would WANT to do it alone.   But it was so important that it happen that way, and I wouldnt have it any other way now. 

My dad has always been my biggest fan and loved no one more than he did me. Sometimes it felt like too much and we had more than our fair share of conflict.  But I always knew that he loved me unconditionally. He had been in pain for a long time and I have no doubt that death is a reflief. I feel like he can finally find the peace he never had here.  I think I understand though why everything has happened as it has this year - it's unlikely I would have ever been here without the events of the past year. 

I know that the worst of the pain is definitely to come. We've spent the last few days going through pictures and I have to write the obituary by tommorow. Then Wednesday I finally get to see face to face too many of the people I've managed to successfully avoid for almost 15 years. But with the negative ones will also most certainly come some positive ones that I unintentionally discarded. 

The interesting thing  is that the night dad was passing, Christine and I were awake all night. We couldnt sleep and were just talking a lot about life. I have had to start coming to terms with the fact that I no longer am going to be able to play guitar.  I might play again one day - but it's unlikely I'll ever be able to play like I did.  My fingers were too broken to bend fully in the same movements.  That's still a little too much to think much about.   i don't know exactly what I am going to do.

But I do know that obviously what I had planned just wasn't right.  Around 5:30 am I had just told Christine that "tomorrow everything is going to be different". I've been full of sadness and anger and confusion.  I was so down about possibly never being able to play again the songs from Deconstructing Frequency, the CD that's not even been released yet.  Everything I've done to this point with music has been so guitar driven.  I just decided that I'm changing instruments - to one that requires no finger bending and I can play solo.  So, piano it is. 

Everything needs to change. Manifest Frequency is no more.  I'm changing the name.  I want to change everything.  I don't know any details and won't be planning anything for a while.  Most what I'll be doing is writing and composing all new stuff.  But it's been a hard thing to deal with - until early Thursday morning.

 It just felt like I let something go that morning.  I literally said those words "everything is going to be different tommorow". Then I took a  deep breath and put my head on the pillow knowing that somehow I had just decided something important- and  the phone rang.

I'll be around and will be back on the scene when it's time. But right now, there's stuff to take care of .... Take Care.