Getting Personal

I don't usually get too personal on this blog, but I feel like it right now. My dad died last weekend, in his sleep, listening to classical music. A perfect way to go, in my opinion.

I "came home" to NYC from Boston, and I've been getting blasts from the past ever since I've been here. My dad has lived in this building for 39 years, since I was a baby. I lived here till I was 7, and then came on weekends after my parents got divorced. My brother has lived here with my dad for the past 17 years.

I was sitting on the step the other night, an activity I have done since I was a kid, watching the people go by. Neighbor after neighbor came into the building, and it was like "This is Your Life." I only see these people every few years, since I'm in Boston, but they always say hi and ask about my dad and brother. I got a huge dose of comic relief from one couple. I told them my dad had died listening to music, and the husband said, "What station? I'm not listening to it; I don't want to die!" Oh god, that was funny. Then the wife told me about this show they had just seen that I had to go to, it was only here till July 1st. Such New Yorkers, I love it.

I came in the other day with a bag full of stuff, and I put it on the radiator to wait for the elevator. The sound of the bag hitting the radiator gave me a flashback to my childhood. Strange and comforting how tiny things like sounds or smells can bring you back to a place you haven't thought about for a long time.

We're bonding, my brother, sister-in-law, and I. Going through stuff, throwing away bags and bags of stuff, sorting through papers. I keep calling his financial institutions, and they all say they need a death certificate. Poor man just got "out of the oven" as it were, and here I am trying to take care of business. It's the way we're grieving. I know I need to slow down, but I don't know how. Perhaps writing this will help. It's not even 9 am. Sigh.