The Smallest Things Mean The Most

I think it took me a long time to shake off the tunnel my mind was in after my father passed away. I do not remember how long, but when he died I thought that I would feel more at ease once his funeral took place and was over. It was roughly five days after his death that the funeral happened and in those five days and for weeks after he passed I continued to have dreams/nightmares about the last conversation that him and I had. Just like it was on repeat or the movie "Groundhogs Day." Every time I woke up I would catch myself calling his cell phone and feeling all the emotion wash from my heart when I realized that even though that was a nightmare that really happened. He was gone... no phone calls, no last minute words, no nothing. It was a rough time to deal with and more than anything I wish I had someone to talk to, I wish I had someone I was comfortable enough to just let out my emotions without fear of judgement. I didn't though and I don't think that was anymore evident than at his funeral.

My dad was a great man and one that did many things regardless of how people felt in the town that I lived in. My family was not always looked at in a great light just because he did things a lot of times against the grain. People throughout this town were not and in my mind still not use to change. They didn't accept it and didn't want people changing it, but my dad did. In doing so, he helped out many people and it was because of this I thought many of my "friends" would have been there for me and to honor him at his funeral. That was not the case though. At my fathers funeral two of my friends showed up and I felt kind of empty. I know it was a very ungrateful way to look at things, but I have always been the outcast or rebel of the family. I had a group of friends that I hung out with and this group of friends was rather big... but this group of "friends" weren't friends as much as they were acquaintances and I found this out that day. Only two of those people showed up to his funeral and stood by my side as I struggled to even go into the funeral home. I never worked up the courage or strength to be able to go into the same room as where the casket was and obviously never saw my father lying in peace. The funeral home had to move three chairs into the adjacent room because the second I entered that room all the strength in my legs and body left... I crumpled and fell to the ground, started crying in agony. I did not want to see it, I did not want to give up, and ultimately did not want that to be the end. I thought the day he died was tough, but I was beginning to realize that the road lay ahead of me would present more challenging tasks and feats to overcome. I was at a disadvantage to where I was two weeks prior to this, I disadvantage of that fatherly knowledge to lean on... that ability to ask for advice. I no longer had that bond and relationship a father and son share. I felt alone and emotionless.