We've been hit with a snowstorm about a month earlier than is the norm for this part of the country. I love the beauty of snow ... how it covers everything in a soft blanket as it sleeps, waiting for the spring. It sparkles and as my daughter keeps reminding me, it surrounds us with snow fairies that we can see only if we believe.
Despite all the beauty of winter I'm frustrated that my running outdoors season has been cut short by almost a month. I love getting outside and running. I was just starting to get past some of my injuries that started last April and seemed to plagued me incessantly, my body trying to explain to me something that is going on which I have yet to understand. I have a 5k on December 7th. It is the same 5k that was my very first ever last year. I want to do well. I want to kick ass at it. Not getting out to run for the next week makes me fear I am not going to do well.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I have all the fixin's ready for dinner. It will be just the four of us, again. It feels lonely. Another time of year when it is impossible for us to be with family. Sweet One is so absolutely excited about tomorrow and the fact that it is almost December. She can't say December without sounding like she is telling me the most magical secret in the entire world. I need to continue to look with her eyes when things are hard.
Ever since moving to this country I have always felt like Thanksgiving is a big celebration that starts off the Christmas season. In Canada, Thanksgiving is just Thanksgiving. That is our focus. But within a few hours of filling up on everything we are supposed to be thankful for, a large portion of the population down here will line up on the cold sidewalk only to barge into a store with their elbows out, fighting almost to the death for that next great deal. I saw neighbours returning home last year after a night of no sleep and a day of crowds. They looked like they had been hit by a truck! I don't really understand it.
When all is said and done, I miss my Dad. On December 15th he would have been a whopping 64 years old. Sure, we would have made jokes, but his candles would never set off the fire extinguisher. So maybe everything right now is all about that loss. Another year when he will be missing from the home of my siblings. A miracle might have happened that perhaps we would have found a way to mend the bridge and maybe he could have been missing from my home at this time of year, but I don't know. "...a miracle is just a shift in perception."
And so again I will take it all breath by breath. Learning to be compassionate and gentle with myself and trying to be open to the Divine Guidance I will be given so that I can see the beauty in all of this.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
A Red Dwarf Campion for my Dad
We arrived home a week ago. I've wanted to type and try to process all that happened on our two week trip that covered 3,512.1 miles but I haven't been able to. There was so much that happened. t wasn't the colossal gong show I had expected it to be. It was what it needed to be and there were many beautiful moments that I am holding onto dearly. (I'm now no longer afraid of long car trips with small kids!)
On the day that we buried my father I was surround by a family I had tried not to connect with for many years because connecting with them meant connecting with my Dad. And really, that never went the way I'd hope it would so what was the point? He didn't understand me or listen to me so why would they. But they loved me and my family. My sister and I talked about how we never felt that cared for and loved by extended family like that before. "Don't knock. This is your home while you're here. You need anything, just come in and take it or ask if you can't find it." That was what my Dad's youngest brother told me within minutes of arriving on the farm. Strangely enough, when I looked at him I saw my Dad looking at me.
My counselor told me that after we buried my father I might feel a sense of relief. But I didn't. I wanted to so desperately but it didn't come. I sat on the ground with Little Man in my lap only a few feet from the hole where the wooden box that contained the ashes would be placed. The headstone a few more feet past that. It was a short service but I cried through the whole thing. At one point the Pastor nodded to my brother who then took the box and placed it in the hole. I felt my entire torso start to shake and I thought was going to scream. I wanted to sob. I was in awe of my brother who could do that without falling down himself. I reached over and held the hand of my cousin who was sitting beside me with her son in her lap and I felt a little better. I sat there for awhile hoping that a wave of relief would come over me. My Grandma walked up to the headstone and said in a strong, even tone, "Well, goodbye my son. 'Til we meet again." I wanted to be able to say my own version of that but no matter how long I sat there, it didn't come. I think I was one of the last to leave.
For the rest of the day and the day after that we were surrounded by such a great love. I felt home in a place that I never understood. The farm was amazing. Sweet One spent hours each day running with her cousins and having the greatest time. Little Man was usually close to Big Love or I but he still had fun in his own way. We were taken out in boats, fed food and spent hours around a campfire. I thought that maybe as I was surrounded by his mother, and sister that perhaps I would start to feel a bit of peace.
I didn't want to leave the farm. I felt at home there in a way I never thought I would. We had to leave to meet with Big Love's family. My sister had left the farm a few minutes before us and it seems she had the same idea that I had. I left the kids and Big Love at the car and walked towards the grave. My sister and her family were saying good bye and so I stayed back and watched them. After they were done my sister stayed with me a bit and I tried so hard again to be able to say goodbye but I couldn't. I was scared it would never come.
A few days later as we started the five days back to where we live we stopped at the cemetery once again. This time I carried with me a Dwarf Red Campion. The kids were very excited to plant this for "Grandpa's Special Place". I felt like finally I found something I could do for him. I dug into the dirt that was filling the small hole and pulled out as much as I could to make room for this plant, threw in some food and then proceeded to plant it. The kids helped me every step of the way. We made sure the peacock feathers my niece and nephew had placed there remained standing tall, watered it so it could begin to grow and said our goodbyes. "I miss Grandpa," my Sweet One said. The four of us standing there, leaving kisses on the headstone. Together my little family helped me say my first goodbye. Finally, I felt like the first seed of peace was planted inside of me.
I'm not too optimistic but I really hope that little flower will bloom for my Dad every year.
On the day that we buried my father I was surround by a family I had tried not to connect with for many years because connecting with them meant connecting with my Dad. And really, that never went the way I'd hope it would so what was the point? He didn't understand me or listen to me so why would they. But they loved me and my family. My sister and I talked about how we never felt that cared for and loved by extended family like that before. "Don't knock. This is your home while you're here. You need anything, just come in and take it or ask if you can't find it." That was what my Dad's youngest brother told me within minutes of arriving on the farm. Strangely enough, when I looked at him I saw my Dad looking at me.
My counselor told me that after we buried my father I might feel a sense of relief. But I didn't. I wanted to so desperately but it didn't come. I sat on the ground with Little Man in my lap only a few feet from the hole where the wooden box that contained the ashes would be placed. The headstone a few more feet past that. It was a short service but I cried through the whole thing. At one point the Pastor nodded to my brother who then took the box and placed it in the hole. I felt my entire torso start to shake and I thought was going to scream. I wanted to sob. I was in awe of my brother who could do that without falling down himself. I reached over and held the hand of my cousin who was sitting beside me with her son in her lap and I felt a little better. I sat there for awhile hoping that a wave of relief would come over me. My Grandma walked up to the headstone and said in a strong, even tone, "Well, goodbye my son. 'Til we meet again." I wanted to be able to say my own version of that but no matter how long I sat there, it didn't come. I think I was one of the last to leave.
For the rest of the day and the day after that we were surrounded by such a great love. I felt home in a place that I never understood. The farm was amazing. Sweet One spent hours each day running with her cousins and having the greatest time. Little Man was usually close to Big Love or I but he still had fun in his own way. We were taken out in boats, fed food and spent hours around a campfire. I thought that maybe as I was surrounded by his mother, and sister that perhaps I would start to feel a bit of peace.
I didn't want to leave the farm. I felt at home there in a way I never thought I would. We had to leave to meet with Big Love's family. My sister had left the farm a few minutes before us and it seems she had the same idea that I had. I left the kids and Big Love at the car and walked towards the grave. My sister and her family were saying good bye and so I stayed back and watched them. After they were done my sister stayed with me a bit and I tried so hard again to be able to say goodbye but I couldn't. I was scared it would never come.
A few days later as we started the five days back to where we live we stopped at the cemetery once again. This time I carried with me a Dwarf Red Campion. The kids were very excited to plant this for "Grandpa's Special Place". I felt like finally I found something I could do for him. I dug into the dirt that was filling the small hole and pulled out as much as I could to make room for this plant, threw in some food and then proceeded to plant it. The kids helped me every step of the way. We made sure the peacock feathers my niece and nephew had placed there remained standing tall, watered it so it could begin to grow and said our goodbyes. "I miss Grandpa," my Sweet One said. The four of us standing there, leaving kisses on the headstone. Together my little family helped me say my first goodbye. Finally, I felt like the first seed of peace was planted inside of me.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
One year
It's been a hard few days. Today marks the one year anniversary of my Dad's death. Unfortunately, it's actually a three day even because there's the day he had his accident, the day we waited to hear about what organs he'd be able to donate and then finally, today, when he was taken off the machines.
I started a more lengthy letter to my Dad on Thursday but it just didn't feel right. Mostly because I didn't know exactly how I felt. One minute I'm ok, the next I'm crying during the warm up to my Friday morning run and sobbing during my cool down. I've spent the last few days trying to be gentle with myself and others.
I've had a few moments of peace and I've had some that are not. The final goodbye is yet to come. On August 3 we will be interring his ashes in a family plot in rural southern Saskatchewan. It is a very small cemetery where all of his family are or will be buried near the farm that he was raised on. We will make our way there through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota. On the way home we're going to take a slightly different route and go through South Dakota as well as Iowa.
I don't really know what to expect of this trip, just as I don't always know what to expect from my grieving process. But I do know it is all a sort of pilgrimage for me. Learning to let go of the hurt from a relationship where a father and his daughter could never find a way to hear one another, letting go of the guilt for cutting him out of my life, coming to terms with the fact that I will never have the chance to reconcile with him and that he never met my kids.
I'm learning to forgive myself. It is harder than forgiving him at this point. But I am learning so much. It seems that in some ways I am learning more from my Dad in his death than I did before.
I started a more lengthy letter to my Dad on Thursday but it just didn't feel right. Mostly because I didn't know exactly how I felt. One minute I'm ok, the next I'm crying during the warm up to my Friday morning run and sobbing during my cool down. I've spent the last few days trying to be gentle with myself and others.
I've had a few moments of peace and I've had some that are not. The final goodbye is yet to come. On August 3 we will be interring his ashes in a family plot in rural southern Saskatchewan. It is a very small cemetery where all of his family are or will be buried near the farm that he was raised on. We will make our way there through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota. On the way home we're going to take a slightly different route and go through South Dakota as well as Iowa.
I don't really know what to expect of this trip, just as I don't always know what to expect from my grieving process. But I do know it is all a sort of pilgrimage for me. Learning to let go of the hurt from a relationship where a father and his daughter could never find a way to hear one another, letting go of the guilt for cutting him out of my life, coming to terms with the fact that I will never have the chance to reconcile with him and that he never met my kids.
I'm learning to forgive myself. It is harder than forgiving him at this point. But I am learning so much. It seems that in some ways I am learning more from my Dad in his death than I did before.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Right now.
I need to learn to love myself. To believe in myself. To have courage in being who I am.
For many years I was taught that I could not trust my feelings. As an INFP, that's a pretty large part of myself that I am told isn't allowed to be heard. I'm starting to feel more and to take a chance in believing in it. Letting it show me more of who I am.
I've been self-abusive towards my physical appearance for many years. In my last year of high school, the day I stepped on the scale and it read 97 pounds was one of the greatest moments I had that year. Not good. I can tell you that I was probably 155 when I stepped on the scale four years later at the end of my Bachelor's degree. I was 130 just before I got pregnant with Sweet One, 135 after and now I'm sitting just under 140. All the running and pilates and yoga and chasing after children that I've been doing hasn't been helping as much as I hoped. Part of the problem was that I'd often eat out of boredom. So I started with MyFitnessPal.com and the first few days were hard but I think they're going to be ok. It is somewhat empowering to learn how much my body needs to be a comfortable weight (perhaps I'll even find my 'happy weight') and then to find foods that will leave me feeling nourished at the end. The foods I am putting in my mouth are quite healthy and I like that. (I also have a friend who has been doing this and knows that it scares me a bit so I'm sure she'll keep tabs to make sure I don't get stupid.)
I've been pretty angry over the past few weeks. It comes in flashes. I keep wondering if it is part of Kubler-Ross' stages of grief. I kind of hope so. Because that way I'll know that it will end at some point and I'll be better because of it. But I don't want it to cause any damage to my kids. It's always my kids. Every time I get mad and yell I look at them and remember how much it hurt me when my Dad would scream at me. How I promised my babies I would never do that. And now I do. But I can stop.
Less than a month until my pilgrimage. I have no idea what it is going to be like to travel so many miles with the kids, inter my father's ashes and then drive back. I hope I learn a lot.
I was sitting here, drinking my coffee and reading Glennon Doyle Melton's Carry On, Warrior. A friend and I went to see her in Pittburgh at a book signing and it was fun. I like her writing. While none of this is 'new', she writes honestly. Without holding anything back. With love and truth. To fully accept what she writes will mean that I have to fully accept myself. As I finished up this afternoon, something inside of me settled and said, "you will."
For many years I was taught that I could not trust my feelings. As an INFP, that's a pretty large part of myself that I am told isn't allowed to be heard. I'm starting to feel more and to take a chance in believing in it. Letting it show me more of who I am.
I've been self-abusive towards my physical appearance for many years. In my last year of high school, the day I stepped on the scale and it read 97 pounds was one of the greatest moments I had that year. Not good. I can tell you that I was probably 155 when I stepped on the scale four years later at the end of my Bachelor's degree. I was 130 just before I got pregnant with Sweet One, 135 after and now I'm sitting just under 140. All the running and pilates and yoga and chasing after children that I've been doing hasn't been helping as much as I hoped. Part of the problem was that I'd often eat out of boredom. So I started with MyFitnessPal.com and the first few days were hard but I think they're going to be ok. It is somewhat empowering to learn how much my body needs to be a comfortable weight (perhaps I'll even find my 'happy weight') and then to find foods that will leave me feeling nourished at the end. The foods I am putting in my mouth are quite healthy and I like that. (I also have a friend who has been doing this and knows that it scares me a bit so I'm sure she'll keep tabs to make sure I don't get stupid.)
I've been pretty angry over the past few weeks. It comes in flashes. I keep wondering if it is part of Kubler-Ross' stages of grief. I kind of hope so. Because that way I'll know that it will end at some point and I'll be better because of it. But I don't want it to cause any damage to my kids. It's always my kids. Every time I get mad and yell I look at them and remember how much it hurt me when my Dad would scream at me. How I promised my babies I would never do that. And now I do. But I can stop.
Less than a month until my pilgrimage. I have no idea what it is going to be like to travel so many miles with the kids, inter my father's ashes and then drive back. I hope I learn a lot.
I was sitting here, drinking my coffee and reading Glennon Doyle Melton's Carry On, Warrior. A friend and I went to see her in Pittburgh at a book signing and it was fun. I like her writing. While none of this is 'new', she writes honestly. Without holding anything back. With love and truth. To fully accept what she writes will mean that I have to fully accept myself. As I finished up this afternoon, something inside of me settled and said, "you will."
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Unexpected days
I've spent a lot of time in the past few weeks yelling at my kids. Not because they deserve it but because every time something got hard I got angry. I thought a lot of it was because of the journey we have ahead of us to inter my father's ashes. That with my kids fighting bedtime, I was a mess.
Two days before Father's Day was here, my friend mentioned how hard it is. And I wanted to cry. I didn't think Father's Day was going to be anything for me because I hadn't made it anything for my Dad over the past few years. On Saturday, I had two lemonade and vodkas before supper. I loved the buzz. On Sunday, I just kept breathing and tried to make it through. The first hymn at church was one we often sang as I was growing up and I could hear my Dad's voice. I couldn't sing. Too many tears were ready.
Monday we started a project on our porch that I thought would be quick. Pressure washing away the paint on the ceiling of our porch and then letting it dry so I could start painting on Friday. That was not the case. There's been a lot of scraping. I hate scraping.
This morning I woke up and I was on the verge of tears. I'm sad. I'm grieving. It's an unexpected stage but it is still hard. I kept trying to put one foot in front of the other but I was stuck. I didn't know how I'd make it through with the kids. My feet have been bothering so I decided I'd load them up in the car and head north 35 miles to get some insoles as well as play at a park that was near enough to the store. I didn't leave on time so that I could get back for nap time. But instead of getting stressed out, I let go. (This is my biggest lesson right now, learning to let go.) I stopped at a St. Arbucks, grabbed a fully-caffeinated latte and headed to the park. The kids played for an hour and I love drinking my coffee as they had fun. Then we got my insoles and headed to a fast food chicken restaurant-A for lunch. Little Man fell asleep on the way home and continued to sleep when the car was parked at home.
I usually plan things. I hold on to nap time with white knuckles so I can keep my sanity. But today, my sanity was found as I threw away the usual schedule and allowed myself to be sad. It's nice to be sad. It's easier to be angry but actually allowing the hard part, the sadness, through, then the healing can begin.
Two days before Father's Day was here, my friend mentioned how hard it is. And I wanted to cry. I didn't think Father's Day was going to be anything for me because I hadn't made it anything for my Dad over the past few years. On Saturday, I had two lemonade and vodkas before supper. I loved the buzz. On Sunday, I just kept breathing and tried to make it through. The first hymn at church was one we often sang as I was growing up and I could hear my Dad's voice. I couldn't sing. Too many tears were ready.
Monday we started a project on our porch that I thought would be quick. Pressure washing away the paint on the ceiling of our porch and then letting it dry so I could start painting on Friday. That was not the case. There's been a lot of scraping. I hate scraping.
This morning I woke up and I was on the verge of tears. I'm sad. I'm grieving. It's an unexpected stage but it is still hard. I kept trying to put one foot in front of the other but I was stuck. I didn't know how I'd make it through with the kids. My feet have been bothering so I decided I'd load them up in the car and head north 35 miles to get some insoles as well as play at a park that was near enough to the store. I didn't leave on time so that I could get back for nap time. But instead of getting stressed out, I let go. (This is my biggest lesson right now, learning to let go.) I stopped at a St. Arbucks, grabbed a fully-caffeinated latte and headed to the park. The kids played for an hour and I love drinking my coffee as they had fun. Then we got my insoles and headed to a fast food chicken restaurant-A for lunch. Little Man fell asleep on the way home and continued to sleep when the car was parked at home.
I usually plan things. I hold on to nap time with white knuckles so I can keep my sanity. But today, my sanity was found as I threw away the usual schedule and allowed myself to be sad. It's nice to be sad. It's easier to be angry but actually allowing the hard part, the sadness, through, then the healing can begin.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
To be uncomplicated
"For the first time in a long time, then, it felt uncomplicated. It was just love, after all, that I felt for my father, and that wasn't so hard." p 166, The Sentimentalists by Johanna Skibsrud.
There is something inside of me that wants so desperately to let go and find some peace. But I can't. I don't know how to yet. It all feels so complicated. But one day, I hope, I will get there. It will be a beautiful place. And then I can continue on the path that is just around the bend.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Scrambled
My Dad wasn't part of my daily life for the past four years. I made that choice to stop hurting so much and it helped. But it doesn't help the fact that he isn't on this earth anymore. Each night I pray that he will watch my children grow and help them when I can't. But it doesn't seem possible. It doesn't make sense to me that he isn't still alive.
The two month anniversary was hard. It is actually a three day thing for me because there is the day that he fell and two days later he was taken off of life support. Something starts to stir a few days before it all begins and once it hit this time, well there were moments that were not pretty. I yelled at Big Love for not understanding that it is still so hard, for bringing something up in an indirect way, for buying the wrong dilly bars .... I couldn't make sense of what was going on but I needed more understanding and patience from him. (I had never actually yelled at him before.) We ended up laughing a bit together at the end of that 'conversation' so I know things will be ok.
I will be ok. I am not right now. But I will be. Everything seems scrambled inside of me. There is just so much I can't make sense of. I'm making it through the day but it is all so exhausting. Even if I'm not actively thinking about it, it is still there. I'm so tired. We've had sickness in this house for 2.5 weeks and it is not helping anything..
I have hope that it won't always hurt and that I won't always be sad. Another appointment on Friday but I'm starting to think that 2.5 weeks is a little too long between them.
Being so far away is hard. Technology promises us that it will be easier to get a hold of people and right now it is not fulfilling its promise. I know they have so much going on in their own worlds but not hearing from some people leaves me feeling a little bit worried and empty.
Maybe I'll get a good night's sleep tonight and things will seem brighter. We're going away to a cabin for two nights starting Monday and it will be nice to be in the quiet stillness.
But I'm just too tired to think or to make any progress anywhere and so I will watch some tv. Because it is nice to just shut off if I can't get anywhere.
***
Sometimes I annoy myself. Like when I wake up the next morning and realize that PMS snuck (is that a word? blogger says it is not.) up on me and could be why last night felt so stoopid!
The two month anniversary was hard. It is actually a three day thing for me because there is the day that he fell and two days later he was taken off of life support. Something starts to stir a few days before it all begins and once it hit this time, well there were moments that were not pretty. I yelled at Big Love for not understanding that it is still so hard, for bringing something up in an indirect way, for buying the wrong dilly bars .... I couldn't make sense of what was going on but I needed more understanding and patience from him. (I had never actually yelled at him before.) We ended up laughing a bit together at the end of that 'conversation' so I know things will be ok.
I will be ok. I am not right now. But I will be. Everything seems scrambled inside of me. There is just so much I can't make sense of. I'm making it through the day but it is all so exhausting. Even if I'm not actively thinking about it, it is still there. I'm so tired. We've had sickness in this house for 2.5 weeks and it is not helping anything..
I have hope that it won't always hurt and that I won't always be sad. Another appointment on Friday but I'm starting to think that 2.5 weeks is a little too long between them.
Being so far away is hard. Technology promises us that it will be easier to get a hold of people and right now it is not fulfilling its promise. I know they have so much going on in their own worlds but not hearing from some people leaves me feeling a little bit worried and empty.
Maybe I'll get a good night's sleep tonight and things will seem brighter. We're going away to a cabin for two nights starting Monday and it will be nice to be in the quiet stillness.
But I'm just too tired to think or to make any progress anywhere and so I will watch some tv. Because it is nice to just shut off if I can't get anywhere.
***
Sometimes I annoy myself. Like when I wake up the next morning and realize that PMS snuck (is that a word? blogger says it is not.) up on me and could be why last night felt so stoopid!
Friday, September 14, 2012
Permanent Failure
Despite the fact that I stopped calling and talking to my Dad on a regular basis, I did include him on every email I sent out that had pictures and youtube links of the kids. It was the only way I included him in my daily life. I haven't sent any pictures out since before his accident because of the fact that I knew I'd get his back and I couldn't take his name off of the group I created for these mailings. Sweet One was singing one of her improv songs that was called "Missing Uncle [name]" and Little Man was goofing around with her. So I videoed it. It was one of those things that are simple basic stuff kids do but those who love them find them priceless. So I sent the link and got the email returned from my Dad's address.
A few moments ago I went to take his name off of the list but I can't do it. I've been so close to crying throughout the past few days and I've come up dry. Perhaps I'm 'all cried out'. As I stared at the screen and could not make myself hit the spot that would delete his address it all came back. It's kind of nice to have the release but it still hurts.
For now, I'll try to send out pictures a little more and just let the emails come back to me screaming, Permanent Failure.
A few moments ago I went to take his name off of the list but I can't do it. I've been so close to crying throughout the past few days and I've come up dry. Perhaps I'm 'all cried out'. As I stared at the screen and could not make myself hit the spot that would delete his address it all came back. It's kind of nice to have the release but it still hurts.
For now, I'll try to send out pictures a little more and just let the emails come back to me screaming, Permanent Failure.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Searching
One of the nights when I was back home my brother took Big Love and I up to my Dad's house. I hadn't ever been in it, didn't even know where it was because he had moved there some time after my last visit.
It was located just a mile or two from town and the view was beautiful. He showed me the land that had finally become his six months previous after renting it for a year or two and the shop where 'it all happened'. Seeing the shop made me happy. Because I could tell he was happy in it building the beautiful things that he did. There was so much space for my Dad to build his things and lots of light coming in. My brother had bought him some cushioned squares to put in the places where he spent most of his time standing and from what he said, my Dad couldn't get over how much more comfortable it was to stand on them rather than the hard concrete floor.
When I walked into the house I was surprised. The cabinets looked similar to what mine did when I moved into this house 6 months ago. I can honestly say that I was a little sad at the state of things considering he had built beautiful cabinets for everyone else but couldn't afford to build them for himself. (He did build gorgeous cherry wood cabinets for the house we grew up in.) The rest of the house needs a lot of work, too. But it will get that work done just before my sister and her family move into it. I can totally understand why they want to move in.
On a cabinet just when you walk into the house there was a small tape recorder. Those old ones with the itty bitty tapes. I took it and started fast forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing. In my head I started getting frantic. "What the fuck do I think I'm going to find?" I said out loud. His voice. I know I wanted to hear his voice one more time. And if I'm really honest I wanted to hear him talking to me, telling me he was sorry that he wasn't able to be more of the father and build a bridge for us to meet on. Dad, why was it so hard for you to listen to me and talk to me? I only wanted to be heard and loved.
My sister found Wally Lamb's book The Hour I First Believed in my Dad's house even before I got there. I loved his other books and since my sister kept my Dad's copy I ordered my own shortly after getting back from our trip. (She would have sent it to me but I wanted to get reading it as soon as possible.) For the most part I spent the kid's nap/quiet time in the afternoon reading it a chapter or so at a time with coffee that my sister had sent with me in a cup she had given me clasped in my hand. I read every page carefully and here again I found myself looking for something. My Dad hadn't gotten very far in the book, maybe only a chapter or two, but there was part of me that hoped I would find something on the pages that would speak to me, that would help all of this hurt go away and leave only peace in its wake. And miraculously give me some answers as to why our relationship had to be so damn hard. I know part of it was my fault, but I got so sick and tired of being hurt, Dad, that I just had to stop. And I'm sorry for that, but it was all I knew how to do. Now I hurt in such a different way and it won't stop either.
Everywhere I turn these days I'm hoping something will help all of this make sense. If it could come all at once and make everything crystal clear... well, it won't and if I'm lucky I'll get little pieces here and there that will eventually show me a bigger picture. For now nothing makes any sense. And I'm trying to be ok with that.
It was located just a mile or two from town and the view was beautiful. He showed me the land that had finally become his six months previous after renting it for a year or two and the shop where 'it all happened'. Seeing the shop made me happy. Because I could tell he was happy in it building the beautiful things that he did. There was so much space for my Dad to build his things and lots of light coming in. My brother had bought him some cushioned squares to put in the places where he spent most of his time standing and from what he said, my Dad couldn't get over how much more comfortable it was to stand on them rather than the hard concrete floor.
When I walked into the house I was surprised. The cabinets looked similar to what mine did when I moved into this house 6 months ago. I can honestly say that I was a little sad at the state of things considering he had built beautiful cabinets for everyone else but couldn't afford to build them for himself. (He did build gorgeous cherry wood cabinets for the house we grew up in.) The rest of the house needs a lot of work, too. But it will get that work done just before my sister and her family move into it. I can totally understand why they want to move in.
On a cabinet just when you walk into the house there was a small tape recorder. Those old ones with the itty bitty tapes. I took it and started fast forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing. In my head I started getting frantic. "What the fuck do I think I'm going to find?" I said out loud. His voice. I know I wanted to hear his voice one more time. And if I'm really honest I wanted to hear him talking to me, telling me he was sorry that he wasn't able to be more of the father and build a bridge for us to meet on. Dad, why was it so hard for you to listen to me and talk to me? I only wanted to be heard and loved.
My sister found Wally Lamb's book The Hour I First Believed in my Dad's house even before I got there. I loved his other books and since my sister kept my Dad's copy I ordered my own shortly after getting back from our trip. (She would have sent it to me but I wanted to get reading it as soon as possible.) For the most part I spent the kid's nap/quiet time in the afternoon reading it a chapter or so at a time with coffee that my sister had sent with me in a cup she had given me clasped in my hand. I read every page carefully and here again I found myself looking for something. My Dad hadn't gotten very far in the book, maybe only a chapter or two, but there was part of me that hoped I would find something on the pages that would speak to me, that would help all of this hurt go away and leave only peace in its wake. And miraculously give me some answers as to why our relationship had to be so damn hard. I know part of it was my fault, but I got so sick and tired of being hurt, Dad, that I just had to stop. And I'm sorry for that, but it was all I knew how to do. Now I hurt in such a different way and it won't stop either.
Everywhere I turn these days I'm hoping something will help all of this make sense. If it could come all at once and make everything crystal clear... well, it won't and if I'm lucky I'll get little pieces here and there that will eventually show me a bigger picture. For now nothing makes any sense. And I'm trying to be ok with that.
Friday, August 31, 2012
A friend's prayer
This morning a friend I met at the mom's group I attended messaged me to tell me that she woke up and felt like God had 'put me on her heart' and that she needed to pray for me. I was a little surprised because we don't communicate on a regular basis. All she had seen was a Facebook status that said how proud I was of my sister and the eulogy she delivered for my Dad. I often don't know how to respond to these types of moments especially when they come from an evangelical fundamentalist practice, but I do trust her. All that I have seen her do seems very heartfelt and genuine.
A few hours later I ran into her at Sweet One's preschool. It was an introduction morning for the students and holy shit! was Sweet One so excited to be there. She hugged both of her teachers (she's never met either of them before) and told them she'd come back "by myself". She and I are so ready for this.
But I digress. This friend left shortly after we had arrived but returned later on her own because she was worried about me. I talked to her and tried to limit my crying so as to not let the other mothers see me cry (they were busy with their own friends, anyway). I was very surprised that she had come back to check on me but there was something inside that felt so comforted by it.
Later on in the day (after canning 22 quarts of peaches and still having enough left over for another 10) I messaged her and thanked her. I also asked what made her feel like she had to pray for me and if she'd mind sharing. Her response struck me so deeply.
I haven't been feeling any spiritual comfort in all of this. I only feel empty. I'm a little scared because I want to feel something to help me move on and feel ok.
Now I'm going to watch Rookie Blue as soon as Big Love is done with Futurama. I'm tired and need to turn my brain off and have a good night's sleep. But I will fall asleep feeling a little more comfort in my heart than I did last night.
A few hours later I ran into her at Sweet One's preschool. It was an introduction morning for the students and holy shit! was Sweet One so excited to be there. She hugged both of her teachers (she's never met either of them before) and told them she'd come back "by myself". She and I are so ready for this.
But I digress. This friend left shortly after we had arrived but returned later on her own because she was worried about me. I talked to her and tried to limit my crying so as to not let the other mothers see me cry (they were busy with their own friends, anyway). I was very surprised that she had come back to check on me but there was something inside that felt so comforted by it.
Later on in the day (after canning 22 quarts of peaches and still having enough left over for another 10) I messaged her and thanked her. I also asked what made her feel like she had to pray for me and if she'd mind sharing. Her response struck me so deeply.
I haven't been feeling any spiritual comfort in all of this. I only feel empty. I'm a little scared because I want to feel something to help me move on and feel ok.
When my alarm went off this morning at 5, you were in a dream I was having. I can't remember the dream, but I woke and just felt an urgent need to pray for you. So I did. I prayed for strength, encouragement, courage for whatever struggle you might be facing. I prayed for protection and that God would continue to embrace you, comfort you, and consume you with his love. I will continue to pray for you. I could see your heartache in your eyes today. Praying for peace, comfort, and healing for you dear friend. Hang in there.Her prayer was perfect. She gave me words for what I need when I haven't been able to find them myself. If that isn't God working, I don't know what is.
Now I'm going to watch Rookie Blue as soon as Big Love is done with Futurama. I'm tired and need to turn my brain off and have a good night's sleep. But I will fall asleep feeling a little more comfort in my heart than I did last night.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Two phone calls
Leading up to getting pregnant with Sweet One, I was regularly seeing a counselor who helped me through a lot of anger. I didn't realize I had been carrying it for as long as I had and while it completely shook my foundation I ended up in a much better place. There were moments when I literally felt like the pieces inside of me were fitting back together in a way I had never felt them before. The yoga classes I was also taking helped with a lot of this as well.
While being a mom is amazing, as are my two little ones, I haven't felt my pieces fitting for quite some time. The challenges of being a mom and dealing with a strong-willed 3 1/2 year old, as well as not having any outlet for myself as an individual, has worn on me. And now with my Dad dying, (which I absolutely hate typing every time I have to) I feel absolutely lost. The pieces are all jammed up inside of me and I don't know how to put them together or to make sense of how I move on from here. I'm quick to anger and, unfortunately, it usually happens when Sweet One is pushing me off the edge. It's not fair to anyone in this house.
I made two phone calls the other day. The first was to my yoga instructor. We had been playing phone tag for awhile but finally connected and there's a class I can go to on Mondays from 530-700. I was hoping there'd be an early morning one I could go to so the kids wouldn't feel like I was leaving them, but as my sister is trying to drill into my head,
I've put aside my own needs over the past few years and only looked at them when things felt really bad. Right now I spend the days feeling like I'm walking wounded. No one can really see the giant gash inside of my chest but I can feel it pouring out, asking to be healed. I can't continue as I have for the past few years and so it's time to take care of myself a bit more. My kids will be ok when I'm away from them. Big Love is a great Dad and if I can't leave them with him for that long, well that is just plain stupid. It's hard to admit but I am afraid of putting myself into a vulnerable position where I'm going to have to be very honest with myself. I'm not sure what I'll find out. I only know that regardless of what I have to work through, I'll be a better person when I'm done.
While being a mom is amazing, as are my two little ones, I haven't felt my pieces fitting for quite some time. The challenges of being a mom and dealing with a strong-willed 3 1/2 year old, as well as not having any outlet for myself as an individual, has worn on me. And now with my Dad dying, (which I absolutely hate typing every time I have to) I feel absolutely lost. The pieces are all jammed up inside of me and I don't know how to put them together or to make sense of how I move on from here. I'm quick to anger and, unfortunately, it usually happens when Sweet One is pushing me off the edge. It's not fair to anyone in this house.
I made two phone calls the other day. The first was to my yoga instructor. We had been playing phone tag for awhile but finally connected and there's a class I can go to on Mondays from 530-700. I was hoping there'd be an early morning one I could go to so the kids wouldn't feel like I was leaving them, but as my sister is trying to drill into my head,
"Just remember it's actually for their own good. They see you being your own person and having your own life and they're still secure. Then they know they can do the same."The second phone call was to the counselor I had been seeing. She phoned back the next day and I have an appointment booked for September 17th, with her phoning if she has any cancellations that will help me get in a little earlier. I'll have to drive to another city so the whole thing will take probably a minimum of 2 hours and 15 minutes but I didn't want to find a new counselor here in town where I'd have to go through the whole history. And this woman really helped me. I don't like having to be gone that long but I'm also fantasizing about maybe being able to get to Target all by myself either before or after the appointment!
I've put aside my own needs over the past few years and only looked at them when things felt really bad. Right now I spend the days feeling like I'm walking wounded. No one can really see the giant gash inside of my chest but I can feel it pouring out, asking to be healed. I can't continue as I have for the past few years and so it's time to take care of myself a bit more. My kids will be ok when I'm away from them. Big Love is a great Dad and if I can't leave them with him for that long, well that is just plain stupid. It's hard to admit but I am afraid of putting myself into a vulnerable position where I'm going to have to be very honest with myself. I'm not sure what I'll find out. I only know that regardless of what I have to work through, I'll be a better person when I'm done.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Counting days
When my babies were born I counted their life in days, then weeks, months and now half years. Changes happen so often with little ones that it is necessary to use smaller measurements of time because one week is incomparable to one month; twelve months is nothing near what sixteen months is like.
Three and a half weeks ago they proclaimed my Dad dead. When will I stop counting the weeks, months and move into years? Perhaps when it doesn't hurt every moment. Right now the hurt doesn't seem to let up. I'm dragging myself through every day. I wake up with a strange idea that I can do it but within a few hours I'm mentally exhausted and not so sure anymore.
Dad, I hope time is flying by for you. I know things are wonderful for you where you are and that brings me a momentary sense of peace. But then just as quickly I remember that we won't be able to have that moment of reconciliation where we start new because I've finally been able to find a way to let go of the things I want to forget. I don't like holding onto them but for some reason they stick like glue to every inch of me even though I desperately want them to leave my mind so that I can only remember the times we laughed and enjoyed each other's company. I miss you. Please watch over my kids and enjoy watching them laugh and play. I know that is what you would want me to focus on right now and I'm trying. It's just so damn hard sometimes. Love, ste.
Three and a half weeks ago they proclaimed my Dad dead. When will I stop counting the weeks, months and move into years? Perhaps when it doesn't hurt every moment. Right now the hurt doesn't seem to let up. I'm dragging myself through every day. I wake up with a strange idea that I can do it but within a few hours I'm mentally exhausted and not so sure anymore.
Dad, I hope time is flying by for you. I know things are wonderful for you where you are and that brings me a momentary sense of peace. But then just as quickly I remember that we won't be able to have that moment of reconciliation where we start new because I've finally been able to find a way to let go of the things I want to forget. I don't like holding onto them but for some reason they stick like glue to every inch of me even though I desperately want them to leave my mind so that I can only remember the times we laughed and enjoyed each other's company. I miss you. Please watch over my kids and enjoy watching them laugh and play. I know that is what you would want me to focus on right now and I'm trying. It's just so damn hard sometimes. Love, ste.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Pizza Night
Pizza for supper tonight. We don't order in because this town does not have gluten free crusts and I feel so much better if that's what I eat. (I was shocked how many Canadian pizza places had it!) So buy frozen crusts for me and other crusts for the rest of the family. Grate all the cheese, cut up the pieces of what we're putting them on so we can each have just what we like and then I remember.
We never bought our pizza growing up. My Dad would make the crust and the sauce. It was quite an ordeal. Exciting. We even got to drink pop with that meal (or soda for those of you who use that weird word) which was a very rare occurrence. We used canned mushrooms and my Dad would let us eat some of them as we were assembling our pizzas. It is almost ridiculous how much detail I remember of these nights. The crust wasn't thin but nor was it thick. It was just my Dad's crust. So much fun for all of us.
One night I got home from wherever I was early. I'm not sure if it was work or babysitting but I got downstairs and said I was hungry. My Dad's suggestion was to order a pizza if I'd go and pick it up. So I did. I brought it down to the basement where I scarfed probably half of it. We never spoke much. I heard later from my sister how surprised my Dad was at how much I ate. If I had taken a moment to look up I probably would have seen a look of complete relief. That was in the middle of my almost-anorexic stage. The teenage years were hard for me and how much I ate was the one thing I felt I could control. I liked how skinny I felt. 97 pounds isn't very much. My Dad was incredibly worried but didn't know how to talk to me. I think that is about the time things started declining for us.
So my family and I will eat pizza tonight. And it will mean so much more to me than I ever imagined.
We never bought our pizza growing up. My Dad would make the crust and the sauce. It was quite an ordeal. Exciting. We even got to drink pop with that meal (or soda for those of you who use that weird word) which was a very rare occurrence. We used canned mushrooms and my Dad would let us eat some of them as we were assembling our pizzas. It is almost ridiculous how much detail I remember of these nights. The crust wasn't thin but nor was it thick. It was just my Dad's crust. So much fun for all of us.
One night I got home from wherever I was early. I'm not sure if it was work or babysitting but I got downstairs and said I was hungry. My Dad's suggestion was to order a pizza if I'd go and pick it up. So I did. I brought it down to the basement where I scarfed probably half of it. We never spoke much. I heard later from my sister how surprised my Dad was at how much I ate. If I had taken a moment to look up I probably would have seen a look of complete relief. That was in the middle of my almost-anorexic stage. The teenage years were hard for me and how much I ate was the one thing I felt I could control. I liked how skinny I felt. 97 pounds isn't very much. My Dad was incredibly worried but didn't know how to talk to me. I think that is about the time things started declining for us.
So my family and I will eat pizza tonight. And it will mean so much more to me than I ever imagined.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Kitchen Improvements
This is what our kitchen looked like when we first moved in. I hated it and thought that we could redo it. Then the realities of living on one income and owning a house hit me like a 2x4 in the head and I realized that we would not be redoing it.
When Sweet One was about 3 months old I got sick and tired of these awful colors. We got a new stove with our Christmas money (full size but we had to get rid of some counter space to the right of the stove to make room for it), painted the walls yellow and the cabinets white. It was better. It still wasn't great. The countertop always looked dirty and I couldn't get the floors clean for the life of me. I tried everything and I hated it.
In June while we were at a cabin with my in-laws, we had a groutable stick on tile put on the floor and also new cabinets put along the empty wall. I was sick and tired of running downstairs every time I need a can of beans or some tomatoes. We got the cabinets on sale and so they were only about $600.
When I got home from our trip west for my Dad's memorial service I got a strong whiff of epoxy. It stunk but I was happy because that meant my contractor had finished putting the new counter top in. It is definitely the finishing touch. I can't believe how much better this little kitchen looks. It still isn't perfect, the workable counter space isn't ideal and the flow of cabinets isn't great, but it sure is a hell of a lot better than the day we moved in.
Complete with two children tuckered out from a dance session. This floor is quite nice for dancing! (It also looks much more gray than my camera was able to pick up.)
Complete with a plate of cooling corn on the cob. I never got this kitchen all lovely and clean yet but here it is doing what it does.
***There are moments in the day when I feel absolutely fine and then there are those when I can barely move. My sister saw a psychic/clairvoyant and what she was told was amazing. It all makes sense. I wish I could have a moment like that. I want to know my Dad knows I love him and that I'm sorry things happened the way they happened. That I miss him. I want him to know everything even if I don't know it all myself.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Where I'm from
I had forgotten how much light there is where I grew up. Some nights the sky doesn't get completely back. And then in the winter the northern lights are beautiful. When I looked up at the skyline it seemed absolutely empty to me. When I look up where I live I see houses and trees. For the first time in a long time, I stopped hating the town I grew up in.
As our trip progressed I started to find calm and peace in looking at the sky. I was actually able to slow my brain down when I looked at it. It was huge and endless. As I was driving back to my Mom's, I kept looking at the fields of canola. They're so beautiful. The landscape in this part of the country used to bore me but this time I couldn't get enough. I wanted to absorb every inch of it and remember where I came from rather than trying to forget.
Sweet One had been saying, "I wish I had a kite," ever since she saw Curious George fly his and so we got her one. A special tly to remind her of the trip. The days were fairly windy and she had an amazing time running with hers. (This field was a 5 minute walk from my sister's house. It's actually part of a school.)
Sunday, August 12, 2012
I miss my Dad. Terribly. But I don't feel like I have a right to tell anyone that after what has happened over the past 4 years.
I've had a very hard couple of days being back home and trying to get my bearings. Sweet one is pushing every single button she possibly can and my reaction is anything but good. I need Big Love to step up more.
I feel lost. Every so often over the past few days a picture pops into my mind. A buoy bobbing in such darkness that it saturates everything around it save for the moon that shines down and softly glimmers. I want to be that buoy.
I've had a very hard couple of days being back home and trying to get my bearings. Sweet one is pushing every single button she possibly can and my reaction is anything but good. I need Big Love to step up more.
I feel lost. Every so often over the past few days a picture pops into my mind. A buoy bobbing in such darkness that it saturates everything around it save for the moon that shines down and softly glimmers. I want to be that buoy.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Can you hear me, Dad?
Dear Dad,
I went to bed with Sweet One beside me and Little Man in his pack n play while Big Love sleeps next door because the kids are having such a hard time with being away from home for so long and I just couldn't sleep. My mind slowed down and I just started to cry. My heart hurts so much because I really thought that after some emotional distance we'd be able to sort of start our relationship over, at least the one when I was an adult. But we can't and it breaks my heart every time I think of it.
For years we struggled to be able to talk to one another. We seemed to only be able to hurt one another. I don't really know how I made you feel, and I'm only starting to get a picture of what your personal struggles might have been. And i couldn't let that happen to me. I tried to talk to you in so many ways but you never seemed to listen. In those attempts I was never trying to criticize, I was only trying to scream "please listen to me".
And then one day it felt like to much and I had to stop my hurt the only way I knew how. So I stopped letting you into my emotional space. After I was able to work through some of it with a counselor, and none of it was easy, I became less angry. I would not have been able to be a mom if I had not let go of this anger. I can only guess how it made you incredibly sad when you didn't get to be actively a part of my kids' lives. I'm sorry for that. I truly was not trying to punish you but to protect myself from what I was afraid might only be more struggles in our relationship. I shared pictures with you so that you could see them grow because I didn't want to keep you completely out. I wanted to bring the kids back to the hometown so that you could see them but we just never had the money for it. I can't tell you how many times I looked at the ticket prices hoping that something might miraculously enable me to afford it. I know you offered your Airmiles on a few occasions but I couldn't take something like that from you after not speaking with you for a few years. It didn't seem fair.
I guess I just don't know what was or is really fair in all of this. Perhaps none of it is. All I know now is that my heart hurts so excruciatingly much and I miss my Dad. I miss the hope I had for being able to fix our relationship and letting you see my kids. I heard so much of an amazing man who gave so much to others but I feel like something prevented me from knowing that man.
I'm running short of words but I'm sure there will be more letters to you. I hope you hear them. Someone told me that when we speak of those who are no longer with us that they can hear every word. I so desperately hope you hear these and know what is in my heart now.
A few days after Grandpa died I felt his presence as I watched his children talking with one another. Could you come and visit me? Could you please help me put my heart at ease so I know you are ok and that you know I miss you and I love you? Please watch over my kids for me. Be their guardian angel and help them when I can't.
Love,
ste
I went to bed with Sweet One beside me and Little Man in his pack n play while Big Love sleeps next door because the kids are having such a hard time with being away from home for so long and I just couldn't sleep. My mind slowed down and I just started to cry. My heart hurts so much because I really thought that after some emotional distance we'd be able to sort of start our relationship over, at least the one when I was an adult. But we can't and it breaks my heart every time I think of it.
For years we struggled to be able to talk to one another. We seemed to only be able to hurt one another. I don't really know how I made you feel, and I'm only starting to get a picture of what your personal struggles might have been. And i couldn't let that happen to me. I tried to talk to you in so many ways but you never seemed to listen. In those attempts I was never trying to criticize, I was only trying to scream "please listen to me".
And then one day it felt like to much and I had to stop my hurt the only way I knew how. So I stopped letting you into my emotional space. After I was able to work through some of it with a counselor, and none of it was easy, I became less angry. I would not have been able to be a mom if I had not let go of this anger. I can only guess how it made you incredibly sad when you didn't get to be actively a part of my kids' lives. I'm sorry for that. I truly was not trying to punish you but to protect myself from what I was afraid might only be more struggles in our relationship. I shared pictures with you so that you could see them grow because I didn't want to keep you completely out. I wanted to bring the kids back to the hometown so that you could see them but we just never had the money for it. I can't tell you how many times I looked at the ticket prices hoping that something might miraculously enable me to afford it. I know you offered your Airmiles on a few occasions but I couldn't take something like that from you after not speaking with you for a few years. It didn't seem fair.
I guess I just don't know what was or is really fair in all of this. Perhaps none of it is. All I know now is that my heart hurts so excruciatingly much and I miss my Dad. I miss the hope I had for being able to fix our relationship and letting you see my kids. I heard so much of an amazing man who gave so much to others but I feel like something prevented me from knowing that man.
I'm running short of words but I'm sure there will be more letters to you. I hope you hear them. Someone told me that when we speak of those who are no longer with us that they can hear every word. I so desperately hope you hear these and know what is in my heart now.
A few days after Grandpa died I felt his presence as I watched his children talking with one another. Could you come and visit me? Could you please help me put my heart at ease so I know you are ok and that you know I miss you and I love you? Please watch over my kids for me. Be their guardian angel and help them when I can't.
Love,
ste
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Stepping Back
During a recent conversation with my friend she mentioned that it is ok to step back and let others do the planning. My sister and brother are doing a great job of taking care of things. It's not that I don't want to help but there doesn't seem to be much room for me to do so.
Grief seems to come in waves. I'm hearing so many stories of my Dad's generosity, patience and love for his family. I wasn't always sure if his motives were altruistic but now I'm learning that they were. I'm struggling because he never seemed to have any patience for me but I am trying to hear the stories and learn about a side of him I didn't really know. I do know that he always loved his family as much as he possibly could. What I need to learn in all of this may not become clear for many years.
I will be ok. Eventually it may all make sense.
Grief seems to come in waves. I'm hearing so many stories of my Dad's generosity, patience and love for his family. I wasn't always sure if his motives were altruistic but now I'm learning that they were. I'm struggling because he never seemed to have any patience for me but I am trying to hear the stories and learn about a side of him I didn't really know. I do know that he always loved his family as much as he possibly could. What I need to learn in all of this may not become clear for many years.
I will be ok. Eventually it may all make sense.
Friday, July 27, 2012
I don't really have words right now, just a giant lump in my chest that sometimes makes me cry. I'm just sad. My father and I had a difficult relationship. For years I hoped he'd hear what I was saying but he never did and after more than ten years of feeling that way, I had to cut myself off to protect myself and my children from his anger. But that does not at all mean I wasn't hopeful that there would one day be a reconciliation. That day will not come.
After being pronounced brain dead at 11:55 AM yesterday, he was finally taken off life support some time today. We were hoping some organs could be donated. The only one that might have been was his heart. I hate the idea that he took his last breath without a family member by his side. I hate the idea that I just don't know if his spirit was still with his body at that point or if it had already moved on. I hate that I haven't had a very strong conviction in my own Christian faith over the past while and so I am not finding huge comfort in what I believe 'should' be happening right now.
I hope the parts of my Dad that were good shine and watch over my children as a guardian angel. I hope the parts of him that I struggled with have been shed and that God has taken then all away. I hope my Dad knows what is in my heart - that despite what my actions may have been telling him, I still loved him.
My heart aches. I don't know how to process this. We booked our flight for Monday and then it felt too far away so we switched it to Sunday (thank you for WestJet who has a good bereavement policy to enable switches like this to happen up to 2 hours before a flight leaves with no charge, and also only charges a regular fare rather than the inflated last minute prices).
So I guess I have some words. But I need some that will comfort me and I can't find any right now. "Mom, don't cry about your Dad." Those don't really help, but they are my little girl not wanting me to be sad.
After being pronounced brain dead at 11:55 AM yesterday, he was finally taken off life support some time today. We were hoping some organs could be donated. The only one that might have been was his heart. I hate the idea that he took his last breath without a family member by his side. I hate the idea that I just don't know if his spirit was still with his body at that point or if it had already moved on. I hate that I haven't had a very strong conviction in my own Christian faith over the past while and so I am not finding huge comfort in what I believe 'should' be happening right now.
I hope the parts of my Dad that were good shine and watch over my children as a guardian angel. I hope the parts of him that I struggled with have been shed and that God has taken then all away. I hope my Dad knows what is in my heart - that despite what my actions may have been telling him, I still loved him.
My heart aches. I don't know how to process this. We booked our flight for Monday and then it felt too far away so we switched it to Sunday (thank you for WestJet who has a good bereavement policy to enable switches like this to happen up to 2 hours before a flight leaves with no charge, and also only charges a regular fare rather than the inflated last minute prices).
So I guess I have some words. But I need some that will comfort me and I can't find any right now. "Mom, don't cry about your Dad." Those don't really help, but they are my little girl not wanting me to be sad.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
My Dad is either dying or has died. He fell today and his brain injuries are not the kind a person can ever survive from. Our relationship has always been hard but I had hoped so much, in my deepest of hopes, that one day we would be ok and that he could see my kids.
And I can't sleep. And I so desperately wish I could so that we can start planning our trip west.
This just feel too surreal.
And I can't sleep. And I so desperately wish I could so that we can start planning our trip west.
This just feel too surreal.
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