My father's birthday was my last blog entry. My father's birthday was the last birthday my dad would have.
Yes, readers, on June 29th, 2011, I witnessed and tried to save my dad from an inevitable batle from God. The adrenaline pumping through my blood overshadowed seeing my dad die in front of my eyes. It really hit me when the two nurses came in to tell me what I already knew.
It fucking sucked.
I had my two neighbors and my godmom with me when the bearer of bad news opened the door. All I wanted was my dad. Not a, "My deepest condolences for your loss. I'm sorry." Not a, "We tried everything. We shocked him, gave him medicine, but nothing worked."
A few other people came to meet with me in terms of my father's death and what will happen from there. I didn't care. I just wanted my dad.
After I had a couple of meetings with them, I was given permission to see my dad on his death bed, farewarned that he wouldn't look like his normal self with a tube down his throat. It was still his physical self, whether or not he looked abnormal or sickly.
I went in first, overlooking my dad. His early-morning PTs still on his deceased body and his shoes on the floor. I said my peace and waited until everyone said their own to leave. It was a moment I still savor and wish it never ended.
We left around one-thirty (we got that around 11:30), after seeing my best friend and a good friend of mine, and then went back to the house. People had to investigate to see if it was natural or if it was a homocide, suicide, manslaughter, etc.. I was not allowed in the house for two days, so I took a few things and went down to my neighbor's house. She let me stay there for about a week (later my sister came and stayed there a couple of nights), bought me necessities, and helped me with everything until my sister got there.
She got there the 2nd of July; it was refreshing to say the least. A face of family was what I needed. Thank God I was close with at least one of my sisters, or else I would definitely need counseling for my father's passing. We left the seventh to come back to Michigan to attend the viewing and the funeral.
After shopping for things to wear, it was the day of the viewing. I hadn't cried since the day it happened; right as they opened the doors, my heart dropped. The tears did as well. All the emotion I tried to bottle up exploded. I tried with all my might not to cry, but it didn't work. With just my sister (different than the one that stayed for a few days), my niece and nephew, I cried. No.
I sobbed. I sobbed until I could cry no more. Even then, I cried. People came in eventually and I cried even more, my sobs slowly calmoing down. The emotions that I released physically drained me to the point of exhaustion.
The next day was the funeral. My eulogy was the thing I was nervous about: I had both emotional drainage and stage fright. What an amazing combination.
There were full military honors given at the funeral, and I was forced to choke down my tears to sustain my voice enough so I could speak. The first sentence was the hardest. But once I started speaking, it was natural. That might sound bad, but it was the only time I wasn't scared to speak. From the heart it flowed, but now I still regret now knowing what else to say. I always think of new things I could've said during the short two minutes I was standing at the pedestal.
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August 22, 2011 - Present Day.
Homesickness is my main emotion. Whether I'm talking and laughing or sitting and relaxing, I still have that homeless thought running through my mind. I know I am not homeless, and I am set to never be homeless, but home is somewhere to run and cry to your mom or dad... somewhere to wake up at 6 am to open Christmas presents that Santa got you, but it is really your dad's handwriting; your mother and father both act surprised to make their child smile.
I'm not saying I don't want to stay with my sister, brother-in-law, nephew and niece, but damn, I just want my parents back. I'm not first in anyone's life. Hell, I'm not even second. Third maybe, but that's a blessing.
I am now going into my senior year of high school, both of my parents being deceased and I am now nobody's child. I am a brother. I am a friend, a nephew, an uncle, a friendly face, an in-law. I am longer called son, and though I graduate at the same school my father did, he will physically not be there.
Maybe in mind and spirit, but no mind can create a physical person for me to hug and kiss, and tell them I miss and love them without it being a one-way conversation. I don't want my parents to just listen, I want them to talk.
Maybe not when I'm trying to sleep, scare the shit out of me and I never want to sleep alone again... but in my dreams is enough, I hope.
That's all for now, bloggers.
Joey.
Rest In Peace, mother and father.
Deborah Jean Morganelli : December 11, 1950 - September 8, 2008.
Antonio Joseph Palazzo Morganelli : June 14, 1966 - June 29, 2011.
"If love would've kept you (guys) living, you (guys) would've lived forever."
~Author Unknown
