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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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

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.