Pre and Post Funeral Thoughts


Pre-Funeral Thoughts

My father died and I’ve only told three people. I didn’t take off work. I didn’t even cry, although I’ve cried over plenty of other things recently (e.g. This Is Us, my ex-boyfriend, a coworker) and I’m sure this incident found a way to sneak in a tear or two while it had the chance.

It’s so strange losing someone who was an equally imperative and meaningless part of your life—I, at first, doubted that it was possible to mourn someone I hadn’t seen in over 20 years. I have a dad and he’s alive and well, probably working in his woodshop right now. This man who died is basically responsible for creating me, but not raising me, not loving me, not knowing me in any way. How insane is that? To create someone but never know them? I can’t even abandon a book, old shoes, or ancient Tupperware.

My mom said, “I’ll always have love for him because he gave me the greatest gift of my life—you.” And it’s funny because that’s how I’ve always felt about him. I’m only grateful that he gave me her. That’s all he’s ever been for me; he made it possible for me to live, and for me to be her daughter.

I wrote a poem back in October, when I first learned he was sick. Back when I asked my grandfather to keep me updated, but instead, I got a text in January that just read: “Robert Mendez memorial service” with a date, time, and place.

You kissed a pretty blonde cheerleader other side of the tracks type once
and probably thought nothing of it
thought nothing of the few years from then wedding,
the one her dad almost didn’t go to because of your last name
the same last name you’d give to a little baby girl
first name some Tejano singer from the station where you spent all your time
drinking and snorting away the reality that you were a husband and a father
not anything special
but you could’ve been special in the way the best people are
You probably couldn’t see all of this, right?
Back when you were in love and making a room laugh and playing piano
I guess you couldn’t see how your brother may have chosen to end his life
but so did you
long, drawn out, choosing to disappear
until you were dying in a hospital room
You want me to give some bedside eulogy while your body turns against you
but you died so long ago
I’m so confused
My funeral speech accolades about you were embedded in my
high school, bachelors, and masters diplomas, my book, my passport stamps—
everywhere that last name is inked
Everything good I’ve ever done is tainted by the tiniest truth
that I’m always proving what I can accomplish
without you
despite you
Even worse, everything bad that’s ever happened—
every terrible relationship choice
every panic attack
every depression
every over-analytical-anxiety-filled  am I good enough?
Everything can be sourly linked to you
So you see?
You’ve been here all along
in every achievement
every mishap
I wrote this all on your tombstone
sang these lyrics at your grave
I’ve said goodbye
and don’t know if I want to say it again



Post-Funeral Thoughts

PSA to every parent that could potentially be reading this: when you die, what do you want to be said at your funeral? I listened to an hour full of Bible verses and rosary repetition at my father’s funeral. There was nothing said about his life because I guess there was nothing to say.

You don’t have to be the richest or the smartest, you don’t have to climb Everest or invent a Shark Tank phenomenon, you don’t have to be the founder of a company, you don’t have to cure a disease…life is so meaningless unless you spread kindness, unless you love and are loved, unless you are remembered…

Hardly any people came to my father’s funeral. Most people who did show up were there to support my grandparents, one who doesn’t remember who I am and one who disowned me when I asked my dad to adopt me a couple years ago. Uncomfortable doesn’t really quite explain how I felt, sitting in the back of a near-empty funeral home room, seeing framed photos of a man who I vaguely resemble. Depressed, angry, annoyed, disgusted—there’s not one adjective that I could pin down and actually FEEL. I’ve never wanted to be in a room less, and that made me feel sad for him. And for my grandparents. It must be heartbreaking to outlive your children. Even more heartbreaking I suppose for there to be nothing to say at their funeral.

I guess that’s what I felt: sad. What most people feel at funerals, but a completely different kind of sadness really. I’m not sad that he’s gone—I’m sad that he’s always been gone. I’m not really sad for my loss—I’m sad for his.

10 responses »

  1. Heartbreaking…I think few of us get the parents we need. And as you point out, much of the loss is theirs, as somehow we grow up and become people who accomplish a LOT. Blessings to you.

  2. I understand your situation so well. I am sorry for your grievance. I am going to pray for your strength and your family. Thank you for following my blog. I had a feeling I should visit your blog too now I know why. I want you to know that life is everything you make it. I had to learn how to let go of some people because of their selfishness and no one should have to do that but its needed for healthy reasons. Everyone deserves to be loved and cared for. Even selfish people. I love everyone from a distance but those who choose to be closer are welcome. God blessed me with a very large heart and understanding. I hope you can learn how to let go of the past and move forward. Try to remember the positive effect you can achieve for others instead of how others have effected you. I’ve learned that’s helpful for the future. Also, I don’t cry for death at first it takes time for me to get through the first part acceptance. I think that’s because of my autism. I lost a few people recently too. I am still grieving but it’s getting better now. Today was a very good day I think I finally got over the hump. I am going to follow your blog. Peace, love, and Hugs too you my fellow blogger. Autistic people are highly emotional and it’s never a safe place for us. When I am sad I am very very sad, when I am angry I am very very angry. I don’t get angry very often though because I don’t think about being angry. I am very much aware that everyone is different and it’s not my job to change anyone but myself. I accept everyone for who they are. I love to see people prosper. It’s a good feeling. ❣🙏

  3. Alysha Kaye
    Very profound. I love your honesty with your feelings.
    I knew your father when he was good and kind. Yes, at one time he was that. I know he was excited about you.
    What happened was sad. I am glad you and your mother found Milton, you both deserve him. Peace be with you.

  4. Pingback: Pre and Post Funeral Thoughts | Through the Prairie Garden Gate

  5. I am sorry for your loss….loss of never knowing what it would have been like, to have the last 20 years with your biological father. We don’t get to choose our own parents. This life is just a test. Our pain is meant to help another, I believe. That’s all. The less I expect from this world, the better I can cope. God loves you unconditionally Alysha. He is the Father who has known you since the day you were born. He will never leave you. Thank you for sharing!

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