New Meaning

Mother's Day will forever have a new meaning for me. Today, the day before Mother's Day, I lost my father. I lost one of my closest friends. The closest friend. My leaning tower of strength, the one who gave me wisdom and advice when I needed it, the one who taught me everything I know and the one who taught me how to be strong. I also am proud of the stubborness I got from him even. It's hard for me right now because it doesn't even feel real right now. He spent the last 3 months in the hospital so if I sit here and don't think of anything, I can pretend that all I have to do is pick up the phone and call him and he'll answer. And I'm proud because I lasted exactly two hours without breaking down and crying. Until now.
I e-mailed him this morning. Why? I don't know. But in a way, it makes me feel somewhat closer to him knowing I can at least send him messages. I can escape in a letter for just fifteen minutes. I can pretend that what I send him will somehow get read. Common sense tries to kick in but I chase it away.
Today was the first sunny day in over two weeks. Warm and beautiful and my birds were back. I kind of wished it would have been cloudy and rainy like it has been. A nice big storm would have fit my mood. It doesn't seem right that I can't be happy and energetic like usual. I can't even push these feelings away like I usually do. I know my dad, if he were here, would tell me to get them out. Grieve now and get it out and then start moving on. I know he would tell me to tough it up. As much as I want to curl up in my bed and be there for days, I can't. I have kids that need my attention. Bills to take care of. Papers to find. Lawyers to consult. Family is coming. So is the funeral.
That will be the end. That will be the day that I have to accept that this is really happening. This is not some awful nightmare. Like the one I had three days ago. I dreamt he passed away but in my dream I never cried. That should have been my warning. Because the worst of it? We didn't expect it to happen this soon. He was going to be coming home this week. I didn't feel good so I didn't go visit yesterday. I didn't even call him. And now I feel sick to my stomache racked with guilt and shame because I wasn't there. I left him alone all because I was selfish and didn't want to suffer just a little bit to go visit him. Or even call. How hard would that have been? I didn't tell him I loved him. I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to see him one last time. But the one thing I have in my mind was when I saw him last, he finally had enough strength to hold my son. He held Ignacio and hugged him and kissed him and even fed him ice cream and laughed about it. My last memory will always be a happy one. Hannah was behaving for once. She gave her papa a big hug and asked him to come home. I have a happy last memory so I can't be regretful for that. I just have regrets of another nature I suppose.
I'm not blogging for sympathy. I had to vent. I have nowhere else to vent. I'm sure my husband and mother are tired of my phone calls, texts and just overall sadness. So for now, I will get through each day, one day at a time. My aunts and uncles are coming down so I won't be alone. And hopefully he is watching down on me from Heaven. Maybe I gained a new guardian angel. The thought that makes me incredibly happy is the picture of my father walking with my grandmother. No oxygen hoses, no pic lines, no gaspin or wheezing and no wheelchairs. Walking. Happily. In peace and painfree.
So today is not just the day before Mother's Day. It is now the day that my father, Richard Montgomery, took his place above. The day God chose another angel to join him.

You can shed a tear that he is gone, or you can smile because he has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that he'll come back, or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left.
Your heart can be empty because you can't see him, or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow because of yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember him and only that he's gone, or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back, or you can do what he'd want: Smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

Rest in peace dad, we love you so much and will miss you always!!

Richard Montgomery

Nov. 22nd 1940 - May 8th 2010