One Year

A year ago today my life changed forever. It split into two parts, before and after. I became a different person in one terrible awful moment.

So, I had a lot of reasons to dread today. Dread the memories. Dread the realization that time kept ticking, even though my world was shattered into ten million pieces. That an entire year had passed by without one of the people I loved the most.

It wasn't as bad as I thought. I built it up so much in my head and that turned out to be helpful. It wasn't as horrible as I had prepared myself for it to be. I mean, it was hard, facing the memories of this time last year, but it didn't break me.

Maybe, I'm stronger than I thought or maybe it's the fact that it's just a day. A painful reminder yes, but I have a lot of those, every day. This is just one of the worst, but the last in a long year full of painful dates.

I survived. I survived the first year of my grief. I made it through every significant occasion and it didn't destroy me. It hurt, but I think it always will, still I made it through. I survived.

I think I thought it would be like an instant replay. That I'd relive last February 21st and vivid Technicolor and I certainly flashed back, but it's just memories. The real pain was already inflicted and everything else is just a shadow, a remembrance.

Taela was here with me all day. She went with me for a few important trips. I went to my hands and picked up my dad's Bruins hat. I hadn't seen it in a year, hadn't been ready too.

That hat was my dad's favorite. My last father's day present. He never went out without and he was wearing it when he was killed.

My aunt rescued it from the wreckage of the car, but she knew I wasn't ready to have it back. But she knew that I would want ti back. And I did, finally, I was ready to have it back and accept that my dad didn't come with it.

I'll never wear it and no one else will either, but I'll keep it for the rest of my life. It's in some ways, the last piece of my father, I have. At least it's the last physical link to him.

Next, I made Taela drive me to the scene of the accident. A year later, you can't tell that someone died there. It's look so normal and pretty. Like nothing ever happened.

After that, we went to the graveyard. I've only been to his tombstone a few times. It's too hard, too strange. I find it odd to see my father's name written on stone along with two dates summarizing his life. I don't know if that won't ever be weird.

It was still weird, but it was also disconnected. It was a stone with some words, but it had nothing to do with the man my father was. Not really.

His bodies not there (it's on our mantel--something I'm just learning to get used to), but even if it was, he still wouldn't be there. He's gone.

It reminds me of the poem that was read at his funeral and at Menya's as well.

In Remembrance
By Anonymous

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamonds glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle morning rain.
And when you wake in the morning's hush,
I am the sweet uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.

It compliments his personal beliefs and my own. He is not at his grave or even in the box of ashes. The essence, the soul is long gone. He always thought he'd became a part of the universe again. That his soul, his spirit, would merge with the universe as much as his body eventually would.

I'm going to slip back in time now. To this time last year. By 10 o'clock, my world was already shattered beyond repair. I had already heard those awful words "Rick was killed", I'll probably hear them over and over for the rest of my life.

I got up late that morning. I'd slept in and I only had a few minutes before I had to leave for work.

I remember, my dad was on the couch, watching TV. I snapped at him, but he ignored it and had me laughing a minute later. I remember, leaning down and kissing him goodbye, then telling him I loved him and then I left and by the time I came back, he was gone forever.

I flash to that scene a lot, imagine it like an opening of "Without A Trace", where the person vanishes from the frame. I imagine my father vanishing from my life as I turn away from him, though it didn't happen quite like that.

I don't know what exactly happened, no one does. Some of it I know, the beginning of the story. My mother lost a key. My father borrowed his sister's car and baby-sat for my cousins. My mom got there and took over. He left and went home.

That we knew, it's what happened after that we don't know for sure. I don't know for sure the reason my dad went out that night. We know he left the TV on and his coat at home. That he'd told my mom that he'd be at home waiting for her, but that for some reason he went out.

Nothing is known for certain, but the fact that at about ten to six, he was just outside of Castleton when his car spun out of control and he was t-boned by another car before he had a chance to get out of the way. He was killed on impact.

As the local paper would put it "A Castleton man died and two others were sent to hospital following a two-car collision south of Castleton Saturday night." There was some details of the accident itself and then, "Eric McKague, 48, of Castleton was pronounced dead at the scene. A post-mortem was to be conducted Sunday to determine the exact cause of death.

And that was it, the most horrific moment of my life summoned up in a few paragraphs, there was more, but mostly details about the weather conditions. Nothing of relevance to me, really.

At 9 o'clock that night, I got off work and my mother was waiting for me. I asked her what was wrong and she launched into the whole story, staring with losing the key. I was impatient and told her to get to the point and it was then that she told me that she thought my father was dead.

She didn't know for certain. No one had told her. But there was a big accident outside of town, she knew that. She knew from the number of cop cars that someone was dad. She knew that she couldn't find Daddy anywhere. And she knew what her heart told her.

I knew she was right. That he was dead. But for the entire car ride home, I clung to the fragile hope that we were both wrong. I dialed the cell phone over and over again, but he didn't answer. I remember that we kept talking about him in the past tense and I kept correcting myself. That I refused to cry even one tear until I knew for surest hat he was dead.

That came when he came home and my aunt told me. And my world changed forever. One moment I was happy with two parents, the next I had lost one of the two most important people in my life. My worst nightmare was playing out in vivid technicolor.

A year later, sometimes I still can't believe it's real, that he's gone and that he's not coming back. I don't get him back. I wish I could. But it's not going to happen. I have to accept that.

I'm trying to. I'm trying to remember him and not think of that awful day. Because it had nothing to do with my memories of him. It was just the end of the story, but not the most important part.

The good times are what I want to focus on. The memories of the wonderful, complex man that was my father. I want to remember his laughter, the way he never lost an argument, how infuriating he was, yet how I could never stay mad at him. Those are the things I want to recall.

So I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me.

Memories of dancing to the Stone in my living room. Of snowmobiling parties and barbecues. Of Hiawatha summers. Of long conversations. Of hearing the Stone live and dancing with him.

My father was laughter, heated debates, and music. He loved music. He felt nothing defined who you were better than a good song and he always thought that Behind Blue Eyes by The Who was the song that captured him the best. So here it is, for him.

Behind Blue Eyes
The Who

No one knows what it´s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it´s like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

But my dreams
They aren´t as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That´s never free

No one knows what it´s like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That´s never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

And if I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
And if I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what it´s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

I remember my father. I always will. I remember him the way he was. Alive. I've spent too much time in this last year dwelling on that awful day and not a time remembering the twenty years before that.

It's been a year; a long, painful year. I've learn the art of grief, of loss and pain. I've learnt how much it hurts when someone you love leaves you.

I've also learnt that welling on the bad parts isn't healthy. It isn't good for me to think of my father in those last awful moments. I need to think of him in all the moments before that, so from now on, I will.

I'm done with that. I'll remember my father's life, I won't dwell on his death. Because he is not gone, not really. He lives on in my heart and in my memories. He lives on in me.

Ruby Tuesday

Tonight, I embraced something I had slammed the door on.

In the almost a year (it'll be a year in three days) since my father died, I haven't been able to listen to "Ruby Tuesday" by the Rolling Stones, it just brings me to tears and makes me nauseous. I've listened to it a few times. Some (most) by accident, but occasionally on purpose--either to be sad or as trying to force myself over some invisible barrier.

Every time I listened to it, I had the same nauseous, tearful reaction. I suddenly hated what had always been one of my favorite songs. Not favorite in the way "November Rain" is, but certainly the most special song, because it represented my relationship with my dad.

For those few people reading this who don't know the story, I'll explain. I was born on a Tuesday in July, making my birthstone the ruby. I was also born on Mick Jagger's birthday and my dad was a huge Rolling Stones fan. So, almost immediately, my dad christened me his 'little Ruby Tuesday'.

He had other nicknames for me. He never called me Michelle unless I was trouble. Neither of my parents did, not liking full names as a rule and not be able to agree on an appropriate short form (it was a Mickey vs. Shelley war, thankfully neither side won), so they just came up with nicknames for me.

My mom went the sappy route, Princess, Angel, Apple of her Eye, that sort of thing. My father, on the other hand, wasn't the mushy type, so he developed his own pet names for me.

They changed multiple times. Beansprout, Goose, Googlehead, to name a few, all came and went, and Chucklehead was the last he ever used. But being his 'Little Ruby Tuesday' was different, it was a pet name he only used on rare special occasions. It was very special.

The song was very special to us. We often listened to it together. We danced to it together, live, one of the highlights of my life. One of the most precious moments--even more precious now. We always said that it would be the song for the father/daughter dance when I got married.

So, naturally, after he died, the song became painful. It represented in my mind, everything I had lost. I was nobody's "little Ruby Tuesday" any more. We'd never share that father/daughter dance. So I began to hate the song that I had always loved.

Tonight, I realized that it was the wrong attitude to have, listening to the song and hating it for representing all that I lost. Instead, for the first time since he died, I listened to it and I thought of the good things.

The song will always be a link to my dad. To the wonderful memories that we shared. If I let myself, I can listen to it and remember the good times, remember how much I loved him and how much he loved me.

He's gone. Nothing's going to change that. Nothing's going to bring him back, no matter how much I might want to. But, the memories aren't gone. The connections to him, they're still with me. I can think about them and remember him. Memories aren't as good as the real thing, but they're still precious.

Ruby Tuesday can help me remember. I think it'll always hurt a lot, but I'd rather the think of the positive. I'd rather listen to the song and remember the wonderful, crazy person that my dad was.

Ruby Tuesday
By The Rolling Stones

She would never say where she came from
Yesterday don't matter if it's gone
While the sun is bright or
In the darkest night
No one knows
She comes and go
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you?
When you change with ev'ry new day
Still I'm gonna miss you

Don't question why she needs to be so free
She'll tell you it's the only way to be
She just can't be chained to a
Life where nothing's gained and nothing's lost at such a cost
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you?
When you change...

"There's no time to lose"
I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind
Ain't life unkind?
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you?
When you change...

What I realized tonight is that I'll always be my father's "little Ruby Tuesday" even if he's not here to tell me so.

Happy Birthday

February 3rd. Usually a happy day for me. After all, it's the day both my father and grandfather were born. Birthdays are always happy occassions. Especially in our family. We like celebrations.

I keep thinking about the February 3rd that would have been if my dad were here. I would have gotten up and given him a big birthday hug. Tonight he would have gotten his birthday presents, I probably would have bought him a shot glass for his collection and then something else, something cool.

We would have had steak for dinner, since it was his favourite. Birthdays around here follow the same pattern. Daddy got steak and all the fixings and a cherry chip cake. Mom gets KFC and Devil's food cake. I get pizza and white cake.

I would have baked his birthday cake like I had every year since I was old enough. Always the same cake. Cherry chip with vanilla icing and cherry pie filling in the middle and some sort of decoration on the top. Last year it was a football themed cake, complete with these disgusting sugar footballs.

I don't know what theme I would have gone with this year. I do know that tomorrow he'd go party with his friends. Or that they would have invaded our house like they had a lot of weekends, especially right after his birthday.

This is superbowl weekend too, so that would have guarenteed visiters on Sunday since Superbowl means party. It would have been a fun day, a fun weekend.

Instead, I'm filled with deep sadness, natuarally. I just miss him so much. He should be here today of all days. We shouldn't be doing this without him.

I keep thinking about last year at this time. We had celebrated his birthday on the Sunday, the first, because he wanted to do the Superbowl thing. We had cake and dinner and junk food and we watched the big game together. He was cheering for Carolina, I was cheerign for New England, so I gave him a hard time when New England won.

Then, on his actual birthday, I got up and took him for lunch before I went to work. We went to Swiss Chalet. Then, he took me to work. I got to go home early and we spent the evening together before my mother came home.

It was a nice day. Birthdays around here always were. So many memories of birthdays past. My life really was filled with joy and laughter and good memories. The problem is, that sometimes the sweet memories sting more than the bitter.

It's hard not to hurt when I think of what today might have been. It's even harder not to fall apart. I miss him so much. If only he were here....

Happy birthday, Daddy, whereever you are.

February

It's February. My least favourite month of the year. I've always hated February, it's just so bleary and depressing.

Last year, February took on a whole new horrible meaning for me. It's a month that will always remind me of my father. After all, he was both born and died in February.

This year, February represents the last lag in the morning cycle. I've faced every other first and now I have to conquer this, the first February. The only firsts I have left are ahead of me.

In two days it'll be what would have been my dad's birthday. Then that weekend is superbowl Sunday, when we would have celebrated his birthday (since he loved football so much). Then, two weeks later it'll have been an entire year since my life fell apart.

The closer the 21st gets, the harder it is to cope. I just feel like I'm going to fall apart. It's just so much harder than I thought it would be. I don't know, I guess I always imagined that after almost a year it would be a little easier, that I would have begun to move on.

No, it still hurts as much it always did. I still miss him like crazy. I'm still so angry that he's gone. I just want my old life back, the one I had a year ago.

But since I can't have that, then I want February to be over already. I want to have gotten through the hard days and be able to say that I survived. I just want it to all be over.