Yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life, but actually Tuesday was harder. Yesterday just had more of a horrible finality to it. I hate funerals anyway, but in particular when the man we are there to honor is the best man I've ever met. When the man is the literal ONLY man that had been there for me my entire life. When the man we are honoring and remembering is my Papa.
My Papa, James R. Coody, had a massive heart attack on Tuesday morning. He was 80 years old. And while I know I was incredibly lucky to have had him around for 21.5 years of my life, I want him back. I can't remember much of my childhood that didn't have him in it. Never a holiday and rarely a major event. He kept our whole family grounded and I fear that role has now inadvertently passed to my Mom. She was already Super Woman, and now she's got to be the rock? Rock's cry too. 1.23.31-11.1.11. He would have liked that date. :) Maybe that's why God chose it for him.
I don't even know what to say or to write, I just know I had to get this out and typing is faster than writing. He would have laughed at that and called me lazy. :) He would have told me handwriting has gone to hell since computers...and he would have been right. Looking at things he wrote when he was younger, good grief was that fancy handwriting. Especially "for a guy" when you think of men's handwriting now.
We found a ton of amazing pictures that I'll scan into my computer at some point because well, I love them. And I love him. We found a picture from 1949 - a picture of him in the Navy. Several actually. They looked straight out of a vintage magazine or Pearl Harbor. It's kind of incredible looking at them and thinking "That's my Papa. Isn't he cool?"
We found Nanny & Papa's wedding pictures again. I love those. They are incredibly beautiful in their simplicity. 57 years of marriage. 57 years. I can only hope to be like that one day. And oddly, my hope is pretty real, because Seth reminds me a lot of my Papa. He already did before, but after how he handled me as I fell apart, I see it even more. Just let me cry and cry, nose running looking like I can't stop leaking. I don't know that I will any time soon. I have my moments. I can pretend composure, but it's fake. I learned from the best. ;)
The only times I ever saw my Papa cry was when HIS Mom (my great-grandma) passed away and once when he was so frustrated and feeling helpless about my Nanny. :( It's hard to watch a pillar of strength cry. It's even harder to watch a pillar of strength lie there lifeless in the ER or in a casket. But I did it. For my Nanny. She broke my heart, she really did. I haven't related the "whole story" yet, so I guess I could do that now. I got a call on Tuesday morning, around 8. It was my Mom. She told me to get ready and to head the Nanny's house or the hospital. I said I could be there in 20 mins and she said no, to go ahead a shower. I was confused, but I did it, rushing through the shower, barely drying my hair, and swiping on some obviously-not-needed makeup.
On the way there, Mark called and asked if I had left yet. I said yes. He told me that the ambulance was taking my Papa to the ER and they were performing CPR. Something about the bathroom, and to go straight there. My mom texted me that she and Nanny were in the family room (Mark was still on his way, as he'd been in PTC). I got the part of the story that he'd fallen in the bathroom. I didn't know yet that he'd had a massive heart attack and Nanny called 911. Or that they had been performing CPR to no avail.
I got to the hospital and they immediately took me to my family. My Nanny and Mommy were in tears - something rare and heartbreaking. About 1 minute before I'd gotten there, they had come in and told them that he hadn't made it. We all sat and cried and cried. I didn't know what to do. Then Mr. Tommy (one of my childhood friends' dad's) came in and asked if we wanted to see him. We did.
When we walked into that room, we lost it. We totally lost it. It was like floodgates had come open. It's not normal to see someone like that, it's just not. When my mom had to leave the room (her pastor was there) it was just me & Nanny in there and I will never, ever forget the anguish. She kept asking him what she was going to do without him, she kept telling him to come back. It was horrible. She looked so small and so frail, so lost. And after being married to someone so strong for 57 years, I imagine that she felt exactly that way. How you go from that to this new terrifying reality, I have no idea. Two words my Mom said that broke my heart..."Oh, Daddy." I will never forget these moments. I don't want to, because it proves how much we all loved him. It proves that it's not just me that feels so lost, as if it could ever be.
Later that day, after some family (his little sister Louise, niece Debra, and some others) came by, we went to get Zach from school. I hardly ever see Zach cry, and doubtless it will be a while before I witness it again. He cried when we first told him, he cried when he first saw Nanny (how could he not?) and he cried at the funeral. But other than that, my baby brother put his wall back up like he tends to do when he feels too strongly. You can't fault him for it, it's just his way of dealing.
Telling Will was probably the hardest. He feels SO much. He cried and cried and fell to the kitchen floor. I sat with him and let him cry on my shoulder. It's not as if I can control how much I cry. Well, maybe that's untrue. I had put on my brave face AFTER losing my mind and crying hard each day. I got it out once, and after that, only little bits were allowed to escape. I may sound insane, but again, that's my way of dealing. Will cried the most, I would guess, though I'm not sure. I won't compare it to me, because...I knew longer. I was there as everyone found out. And it opened that back up every time.
Little Ava has experienced so much in her short life that watching her cry is gut-wrenching as well. She can't even seem to control how much or how long she cries. :/ It's that child-related inability to control your sobs. I felt like a child at some points. Will said he felt like his childhood had died, and in a way that could be true for him. He is about to be 18 and has lost one of the strongest men he'll ever know. Zach was 18 days shy of 15. I was 21. And Ava was 7, almost 8. My Mommy was 42, almost 43 and Nanny was 77. And we'll never be the same.
Just watching the faces of my siblings crumple is enough to do me in with memory alone. Hearing my Nanny's words will haunt me forever. My mom trying to hold it together. The hugs. I felt like such a "damsel in distress" at some points, because I kept crying on people's shoulders. Mr. Tommy's at the hospital, Seth's at the house, Zach's at the visitation, Mom's at the visitation, Avery's at the visitation, and again Seth's at the visitation. Seth's the night before the funeral. That was probably the worst. That was when I realized he won't be at our wedding and he'll never meet his great-grandbabies. He loved kids SO MUCH. Anyone that knew him knew that. Melanie even talked about it at the funeral.
And of course, as we sat there during the funeral and I held Seth and Zach's hands, with tears streaming down our faces unchecked, Zach holding Will's hand. I don't think I've ever felt more peace. I felt at peace knowing that Papa was telling us to suck it up and quit the fuss; it made me smile. I do know he would have enjoyed having the military guys at his service. Since he was a Veteran, he had an American flag draped over the casket and the members from the Air Force folded it and saluted him, and presented the flag to my Nanny. He would have loved that. :) Thought it was so cool. It was; it was all for him.
I'm going to miss that man. More than I can imagine and more than I can explain. But I felt the need to get this written down so I don't forget it in my life, not that I think it will. I just don't want the small details to escape me. I should probably also note that I was annoyed with people. I know their intentions were the best, but the ones I haven't seen since I was "this small" or telling me I should "still be little" was honestly too much. I got angry almost, though it was really frustration. They were interrupting my grief process and expected me to smile and remember them and share stories. I didn't want that. I had more stories than any of those people (obviously this is not including family, but his distant, family, yes). I was just so sick of it. I didn't mind being hugged, I didn't mind it when people I KNEW knew who he was and who I was and who he was offered their condolences. I didn't mind, and even appreciated that. But when a ton of people kept saying 'You probably don't remember me, but...' I kind of wanted to say, "No I don't. And right now I don't care. Leave me alone." I refrained, but I know I was less than courteous sometimes. Particularly in the Fellowship Hall before the Funeral. Do people not understand that I want to be left alone? Do they not understand that the family wants some time alone? It was SO IRRITATING that my brother felt the need to escape or that I felt the need to ignore people and shut down. I wanted to cry. But I didn't feel like I could. I felt like all eyes were on us, scrutinizing us. I just wanted to scream GO AWAY! Leave her alone and leave us alone! But that would be rude wouldn't it. So I didn't. I just ignored most people, honestly. I sat there with my eyes closed. Most of these people didn't know my Papa as much as they knew my Nanny. He was probably ticked looking down on us. Maybe not, but I don't imagine he liked people getting all in his wife's face when she really just needed a moment alone. :/
And now I'm done, for now. I can't write anymore.
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