I was cleaning out my office (thou if my colleagues here at work read this they’ll disagree) and I stumbled upon dozens and dozens of old file folders and big orange envelopes that I thought should be discarded. I mean, here’s one for Bills Store. How long has it been since they were here?  Trivia Question:  How long has it been since Bills store was here?

Anyway, I threw them in the corner when I noticed that all thrown together like that, they just looked like the most beautiful fall scene, like a drive along the Cabot Trail, and I thought, jeeze Tina, surely you can come up with something so that these beautiful colours aren’t wasted.

Thats when I cut then in 1 to 1 1/2 inch strips, punched a hole in each end, mixed the colour variety up a bit, because I just think they looked better that way, and with a lovely ribbon, pulling the ends together…

I made a lovely pumpkin that will not rot on my fireplace mantel and attract those pesky fruit-flies.  Fruit-flies, how I loath thee!

And when I did a bunch of them…

Well, what can I say…can you believe I almost threw them out?

I hummed and hawed at what would be my first post after dad died.  I thought geeze, how do I go from my last post to my latest spray painted project? Several people at Dad’s “Celebration of Life” told me that they wanted me to post what I wrote and said, and several others wanted me to post what he himself wrote.  Then others said, “Don’t you dare post that!  Your posts have been too sad lately!”

Seriously, this is the third time I’ve written this post.  I write delete, write, delete.  And right now, I’m merely writing and writing and writing and writing and hoping that something inspires me…

I thought I could write about the feelings I’ve had; like the relief that he’s out of pain; the anger I feel from watching someone die, when, if I allowed my pet to endure that same pain, I’d be up on charges of animal cruelty; the guilt; then pleased from losing five pounds from the guilt, then the guilt from being pleased…I mean there are alot of messed up emotions that I’m feeling.

Mostly, I feel …lucky.  People have been so kind.  I’ve received food from so many friends, including neighbours, even neighbours mothers!  I’ve had so many kind calls and e-mails, and the cards!! Even from the ladies at Tim Hortons! Seriously.  We got a card from Afghanistan, and I got a call from my Nadia.  I think I felt more sorry for her that she wasn’t here more than I felt sorry for myself that she wasn’t here with me.  I could tell from her voice how badly she wanted to hug me.

And you…you who read, and stop me at the grocery store, and at Frenchies, and who have e-mailed me…you really have no idea just how amazing you are.

My kids, boy, they’ve been great.  Colin even wore a sweatah and weal pants as he calls them to the funeral.  And then he had a meltdown.  He was playing soccer with friends, and he started crying, and I asked him what happened, and he sobbed and said, “Well, my grampy died!”  As if to say, You stupid woman, don’t you know anything??

And my David.  He really is a stand up guy.  Why he chose me, I’ll never know, but I’m glad he did.

So I thought the best thing to post about would be, to say thanks.  Life is beautiful, people are good, and you all are the best!

I went to bed on Monday night with my tank of gas hard on empty.  I whispered to David, remind me to leave a little early in the morning to fill up before work.

At 2 am we got the call.  Dad wouldn’t live until the morning.  I raced to get dressed and drove to Aberndale, hoping that I’d make it, knowing that the only place to get gas at 2am was the North Street Irving, but fearing I wouldn’t have the time to stop and get more.  I decided to risk it and headed straight for their house.  I knew I didn’t have enough gas to get me home, but I wasn’t really thinking about anything else but getting there.

The sky was calm and the moon was full right above the house as I ran up the long walkway to my parents house.  The closer I got, the louder I could hear my mothers sobs.  I opened the glass patio door, “Dad’s gone.”

I was too late.

I sat beside him and watched him as he lay peacefully, but exhausted after a long fought battle.  I could say nothing but, “I’m sorry, Dad,” I repeated it over and over.  For what I was sorry…so many things.

I was sorry for not driving faster, for the party I had in 1990, the worry I caused him, his Whisky that I watered down, the daughter I was and wasn’t, the thanks he didn’t received, that boyfriend he hated, the time I could have given and didn’t, I was sorry for the dignity that his country denied him, and I was sorry that he had to die leaving the world a little less kind.

After a really good cry, and a really good nose blowing, I looked out my parents living room window. There was just silence.  No sound of the oxygen tank, no sounds of strained breathing.  The air was lighter.  He was gone.  No more pain.  I felt such gratitude; grateful for this home that he built for us, this life that he made for us, the work that he’s done, and I started to smile and breath a sigh of relief.

Crazy as it sounds I can’t get this image out of my head: it’s my dad riding a big, black, wild stallion that he tamed two decades ago, galloping through the tall, lush grass of a big pasture.

I struggle with my faith, God and religion, but this looks a lot like heaven to me.

Celebration of Life for Bruce Edward Rafuse

Saturday, September 17th 2-4 pm

Midville Branch Fire Hall.