I miss the mundane to-do lists from my Dad. I miss the supply run. The putter of routine.

Dad longed to be back at his chair in his last few weeks, longed to be back to his routine.

From Drawn Together:

My every-second-day visits are full and busy.  Fold the laundry, pack the clean cutlery and Tupperware into the cart, add the clean laundry to the pile, shove in the old envelopes, check if Roar needs any printouts, pack up the car with the dog and computer and journal and purse and sock monkey bag (just in case we watch a video together and I can sew).  Head to the grocery store for supplies: Gas-X, Listerine, toothbrush, toothpaste, razors, shaving crème, pens, paper, salami, cheese, grapes, granola bars, gum, chocolate, lollipops, instant coffee, ketchup, blackcurrant jam, air freshener.  Pick up a bottle of whiskey, new art supplies, and pizza.  Load it into the room. Give the room a good clean.  Load in supplies and laundry, fill fridge.  Put dirty laundry and orange juice containers (my father saves the extra ones for me) into cart.  Grab the envelopes of news clippings he has collected for us.  Get Roar ready, pack his messenger bag, head to cafeteria to the favorite table (it must always be the same table), get fresh coffee, ice cream, etc., go through to-do list, get down to work.  After a couple of hours, take him back up to his room, unload his stuff, give him the time to check that we didn’t forget anything, grab the dog, dirty laundry and hug and kiss goodbye.  Ensure his phone is plugged in and routine is adhered to!

I find grocery shopping difficult.  That is missing-time.  It was the same after my mom passed away.  They were both so infused in my life.

I miss the mundane to-do lists from my Dad.  I miss the supply run.  The putter of his routine.  The structure that made sense.

Dad’s supplies:

… All [his] resistances, all [his] faults, all [his] unexpectedness.  That is, in [his] foursquare and independent reality.  And this, not any image or memory, is what we are to love still, after [he] is dead.

CS Lewis, A Grief Observed

See also:

Life has no opposite

Healing sock monkey watching over Dad

Document it.  All of it.

We’ve become a band of gypsies

Dad’s inner work

Dad’s last day

A pencil box. Regarded with reverence.

Change.  What does it mean?

Saudade- the emotion of missing

Drawn Together

Saying goodbye to Dad’s room with my brother and nephew. Photo by Darcy Glip.

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