Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim

Now that I've uploaded Dad's farewell message slideshow, which I wrote about in my last post, I thought I'd share it with you guys.



In that post, I focused mostly on the visual aspects of creating the slideshow, but recording the audio with Nate and Vickie was also a therepeutic experience for me.  Plenty of people have told me I should talk about how I feel, and that's certainly good advice, but some circumstances make me more aware than ever of the inadequacy of words.  The relationships I find the most fulfilling and sustaining in life are the ones in which words aren't required, and that's how it was when Nate, Vickie, and I got together to record Dad's final message.  That is also how it was when the three of us stood in front of Dad's niche at the cemetery.  I can feel their love and understanding without them having to speak it, and sometimes that is exactly what I need.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about the weekend, both because thoughts of it pervade my waking hours and because I've still been unsuccessful at sleeping through the night.  My biggest regret is that I didn't know what it was I needed from those who wanted to help me.  When so many well-meaning people asked, Is there anything I can do to help?, I think my usual response was I don't think so.  I really didn't know until afterwards that what I needed most to get through the weekend was understanding, emotional support, and validation of my feelings.  And even if I had known that, I'm not sure I would have known how to ask for it.

Sometimes I find handling different family dynamics to be so difficult that being around extended family completely exhausts me.  This weekend, though, I realized that one thing that redeems the family is that there are always people within it who instinctually know what you need even when you don't.  The family members (and friends who have become family) who somehow sensed what I needed from them not only helped me survive the weekend.  Through actions like putting a hand on my shoulder at the right time, telling me my Dad would have been proud of all the work I'd done, making a joke that cut the tension, understanding the way I felt, and validating my sense of profound loss even from within in their own grief, those people helped me to know what I will need to ask for in the future when I find myself pushed to my limit (or even beyond it).

On the one hand, I feel frustrated that I didn't do everything "right" last weekend, and I wish I could go back in time to behave differently.  On the other hand, it's kind of comforting to know that there are still lessons Dad's life will be able to teach me even though he's gone.

I've also uploaded the video of each speech given at Dad's memorial, including my own.  If you'd like to view those you can follow this link to his blog.

(Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim is one of David Sedaris's collections of autobiographical essays.  If you ever begin to feel like your family might be the most dysfunctional one in the world, reading about his family is likely to make you feel much better.  I think what he means by the title of this volume, though, is that it's wise to do even the small things within your control to prepare and protect your family from outside threats.  Good advice, I think.)