Day One - The Passing - Feb. 8 2011
Everyone deals with grief in their own way. I personally find that I shut myself off from others or find some activity to focus on instead of thinking of the loss in my life. However, neither of those is really inductive to healing. I have found that when it comes to me over coming grief and actually healing that comedy and writing are the two outlets that I have that allow me to progress and heal. I think I’ll be writing quite a lot during these next few days and I will share them with the public as a way of proving to myself that I am capable of moving on and getting outside of my own head even if it does cause me to break down and become somewhat emotional, something I have never been particularly comfortable being. Today I will share what I wrote last night while I sat in the ER’s waiting room after saying my final goodbye to the empty vessel that once contained the life of my father.
This has been the absolute worst day of my life.
Trauma is an event we cannot as humans entirely deal with. We must find mechanisms to allow us to cope. Need proof? I’m writing this from the lobby of a hospital emergency room.
There is a saying by Samuel Clemens that comes to mind. “The older I become the more I realize how wise my father was.”
Today I had to receive news that the man who raised me as his own is dead from a stomach aneurysm. He died almost immediately as my mother and younger brother tried to preserve his life as did the paramedics who arrived as quickly as possible. Everyone did all that they could, but there was nothing that could be done. My father, Noble Lee Proctor, the man I called Dad is no longer with us. Pronounced dead on February 8th, 2011.
I have gone on record for saying he is the smartest man I know, because he is. He has an encyclopedic knowledge, several PhDs in psychology, and a razor wit and sense of humor that I am glad he passed on to me.
He took me in when I was brainwashed to hate him by the biofather and even though I considered him my enemy for the many of my early years he played the role of the caring parent. He looked past my bullshit and bad behavior. And thanks to his patience, I am the man I am today. Something I’ve been told he is proud of.
The last time I spoke to him was earlier this week, and all we did was cut the shit on the phone to pass the time. He told me how much he was enjoying “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” that I lent him. I told him how much I was enjoying the Nook that they got me for Christmas and how I told him I needed to finish the Millennium series myself so he could read the other two books and how I promised to bring them a copy of Serenity on my next visit.
I do not doubt that he loved me and I loved him.
There is nothing in this world that can ever replace the influence he had in my life and I vow to continue to live my life in the manner that has to this day made him proud to call me his son.
Cheers,
The Great Prophet Eric/Bazooka Bob
This has been the absolute worst day of my life.
Trauma is an event we cannot as humans entirely deal with. We must find mechanisms to allow us to cope. Need proof? I’m writing this from the lobby of a hospital emergency room.
There is a saying by Samuel Clemens that comes to mind. “The older I become the more I realize how wise my father was.”
Today I had to receive news that the man who raised me as his own is dead from a stomach aneurysm. He died almost immediately as my mother and younger brother tried to preserve his life as did the paramedics who arrived as quickly as possible. Everyone did all that they could, but there was nothing that could be done. My father, Noble Lee Proctor, the man I called Dad is no longer with us. Pronounced dead on February 8th, 2011.
I have gone on record for saying he is the smartest man I know, because he is. He has an encyclopedic knowledge, several PhDs in psychology, and a razor wit and sense of humor that I am glad he passed on to me.
He took me in when I was brainwashed to hate him by the biofather and even though I considered him my enemy for the many of my early years he played the role of the caring parent. He looked past my bullshit and bad behavior. And thanks to his patience, I am the man I am today. Something I’ve been told he is proud of.
The last time I spoke to him was earlier this week, and all we did was cut the shit on the phone to pass the time. He told me how much he was enjoying “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” that I lent him. I told him how much I was enjoying the Nook that they got me for Christmas and how I told him I needed to finish the Millennium series myself so he could read the other two books and how I promised to bring them a copy of Serenity on my next visit.
I do not doubt that he loved me and I loved him.
There is nothing in this world that can ever replace the influence he had in my life and I vow to continue to live my life in the manner that has to this day made him proud to call me his son.
Cheers,
The Great Prophet Eric/Bazooka Bob
