Someday...
*I'm going to be at my Mama's house and NOT expect my Daddy to walk through the door at any moment and let us all in on this big cosmic joke.
*I will sit in his chair and not think I'm going to be kicked out by him
*I will actually become a working member of society again...somehow.
*I will not let every "thanks for applying, but we don't even want to talk to you" letter or e-mail send me into a tizzy of tears
*I will understand WHY.
It's been a tough week. Sunday I had another flood in the basement. This time for real. Ankle deep water. My wonderful Mama came over and helped me move everything and luckily the only things lost were the carpet in the storage room and some stuff that didn't matter anyway. Thank God for plastic storage tubs! (the source of the flood was my washing machine which somehow got stuck on a continual fill and empty cycle and a drain that was clogged - it is now fixed. I think.)
I am very frustrated right now. I am a college educated hard working person. And I cannot get a job. I see job listings or hear about something that is in my field, that I'm perfectly qualified for and am not even getting interviews for. I'm sick of the economy. I'm sick of being unemployed. I'm sick of the beating my self esteem takes on a daily basis.
I'm sick of the long days when Gigi is at school. I have a 1,439,403 things to do at home but cannot get motivated to do them. I am sad. I am lonely. I am feeling beat up. I want to have somewhere to go and something to do. I want to be a productive member of society again and be able to stop worrying about how I'm going to pay for my mortgage. I want to be able to not have to tell my daughter, "I'm sorry honey but until Mama has a job we can't do that...or buy that...or go there."
Most of all I want my Daddy here to kick my butt and tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
White Pickups...
I saw a Ford F150 white 4 door pickup yesterday. My first thought when I see a vehicle like that is my Daddy. He had one for what seems like years and years but really was only a couple years. But drove the heck out of it.
I remember taking many trips to see K and the kids in that pickup. Or a trip to Chamberlain. It was so my Daddy. Big and rugged and a workhorse.
Thinking about that brought me back to other memories. My biggest fear is that people are going to forget my Daddy. That they are going to forget the good things he did, or the people he loved. I want people to know that he MATTERED. To more than just me, My Mama, K and the kiddos. He MATTERED to the world.
As he lay dying in the hospital my Mama started recieving e-mails with memories in them. She shared a couple with me and the love that my dad's friends had for him is awesome. They knew he could be brusk and abrupt - but also still respected him. He could sell snow to the Eskimos and taught me how to talk to people. Anyone that knows me IRL knows that I can talk to anyone, anytime about anything...and I probably will. That's what my dad taught me.
He taught me that everyone has a story. Everyone is interesting. Everyone deserves to know they MATTER. I knew I mattered to my Daddy and that is important to me. I also received a very thoughtful e-mail from one of my Mama's friends (thanks TPO!) that let me know just how much I matter to my Mama. I knew that I did - but it is nice to hear it from others.
As I travel this path that I haven't travelled before, I feel like I'm writing the story. I am in charge of how I deal and what I do. Monday? I didn't cry. I DIDN'T CRY. This is the first day since probably mid June that I didn't cry. That is a big deal and a big step towards the magic called "healing."
Part of me doesn't want to "heal." Part of me wants to keep my memories and my feelings and my emotions as raw as possible. As the days pass, time takes me further and further away from Daddy. From my ALIVE Daddy. I don't want to forget him. I don't want to forget how fiercely loved he was and is. I don't want people to think that I'm magically just okay and not ask me about him.
I want to talk about him. I want to tell stories that make me laugh. I don't want to cry but sometimes the grief sneaks up and I will cry when I'm talking about him. I want to tell the world about how one Sunday afternoon my Daddy decided that Gigi needed to experience a "real county fair." We (my Mama, Daddy, Gigi and I) piled into the white pickup and drove for what seemed like hours but was probably just 30 minutes. We pulled into the town where the "real" county fair was and the fair was....gone. The "real county fair" was from Monday - Saturday. We tried to go on Sunday. My Mama and Daddy chalked it up to a nice Sunday drive and we all laughed.
My Daddy loved to drive. He could drive and drive and drive. Nevermind that his 12 year old daughter in the backseat was beyond embarassed and worried as he tried to navigate through southwestern Minnesota by the sun. BY THE SUN. There were maps people! This was pre-GPS days but my Daddy decided to drive around and look at some flood waters and then take every single backroad he could and navigated home by the sun. I was mortified. There was no one with us so I don't know WHY it bothered me so much - but I'm a map person. He did get us home. We occasionally had to turn around because the road stopped or became a small township gravel road. And of course it took us twice as long - but we got home.
He always got us home. Probably not on them road most travelled...but he got us home. He loved backroads and hated interstates. "You don't see anything REAL on the interstate," he would say. Friends and I drove to Texas one spring break and he mapped out our course. Through tiny towns and 55 mph signs we made it - had fun and maybe took a little longer. But we got to see country that we wouldn't have if we would've stuck to the main roads.
So today? Anywhere I go I'm not going to take my normal route. In honor of my Daddy today I'm going to take the backroads (which will include just residential streets and not the main streets LOL). And I'll get where I'm going - with a little more scenery.
I remember taking many trips to see K and the kids in that pickup. Or a trip to Chamberlain. It was so my Daddy. Big and rugged and a workhorse.
Thinking about that brought me back to other memories. My biggest fear is that people are going to forget my Daddy. That they are going to forget the good things he did, or the people he loved. I want people to know that he MATTERED. To more than just me, My Mama, K and the kiddos. He MATTERED to the world.
As he lay dying in the hospital my Mama started recieving e-mails with memories in them. She shared a couple with me and the love that my dad's friends had for him is awesome. They knew he could be brusk and abrupt - but also still respected him. He could sell snow to the Eskimos and taught me how to talk to people. Anyone that knows me IRL knows that I can talk to anyone, anytime about anything...and I probably will. That's what my dad taught me.
He taught me that everyone has a story. Everyone is interesting. Everyone deserves to know they MATTER. I knew I mattered to my Daddy and that is important to me. I also received a very thoughtful e-mail from one of my Mama's friends (thanks TPO!) that let me know just how much I matter to my Mama. I knew that I did - but it is nice to hear it from others.
As I travel this path that I haven't travelled before, I feel like I'm writing the story. I am in charge of how I deal and what I do. Monday? I didn't cry. I DIDN'T CRY. This is the first day since probably mid June that I didn't cry. That is a big deal and a big step towards the magic called "healing."
Part of me doesn't want to "heal." Part of me wants to keep my memories and my feelings and my emotions as raw as possible. As the days pass, time takes me further and further away from Daddy. From my ALIVE Daddy. I don't want to forget him. I don't want to forget how fiercely loved he was and is. I don't want people to think that I'm magically just okay and not ask me about him.
I want to talk about him. I want to tell stories that make me laugh. I don't want to cry but sometimes the grief sneaks up and I will cry when I'm talking about him. I want to tell the world about how one Sunday afternoon my Daddy decided that Gigi needed to experience a "real county fair." We (my Mama, Daddy, Gigi and I) piled into the white pickup and drove for what seemed like hours but was probably just 30 minutes. We pulled into the town where the "real" county fair was and the fair was....gone. The "real county fair" was from Monday - Saturday. We tried to go on Sunday. My Mama and Daddy chalked it up to a nice Sunday drive and we all laughed.
My Daddy loved to drive. He could drive and drive and drive. Nevermind that his 12 year old daughter in the backseat was beyond embarassed and worried as he tried to navigate through southwestern Minnesota by the sun. BY THE SUN. There were maps people! This was pre-GPS days but my Daddy decided to drive around and look at some flood waters and then take every single backroad he could and navigated home by the sun. I was mortified. There was no one with us so I don't know WHY it bothered me so much - but I'm a map person. He did get us home. We occasionally had to turn around because the road stopped or became a small township gravel road. And of course it took us twice as long - but we got home.
He always got us home. Probably not on them road most travelled...but he got us home. He loved backroads and hated interstates. "You don't see anything REAL on the interstate," he would say. Friends and I drove to Texas one spring break and he mapped out our course. Through tiny towns and 55 mph signs we made it - had fun and maybe took a little longer. But we got to see country that we wouldn't have if we would've stuck to the main roads.
So today? Anywhere I go I'm not going to take my normal route. In honor of my Daddy today I'm going to take the backroads (which will include just residential streets and not the main streets LOL). And I'll get where I'm going - with a little more scenery.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Attitude
The saying goes, "Attitude is EVERYTHING."
And it is. Attitude *is* everything. When my Daddy was first diagnosed the doctor told us that. That his attitude would determine his fate basically.
You know what sucks? His attitude DIDN'T determine his fate. I have never seen anyone have a better attitude when facing someting as serious as brain cancer. My Daddy was a fighter, he fought HARD. He worked HARD to get back on his feet literally. He worked hard in speech therapy and physical therapy and occupational therapy to gain back as much as he could.
He knew that glioblastomas weren't 'beatable.' He knew that he probably had 5 years at the most. The radiologist told him the longest he'd had a patient live with a glioblastoma was 5 years. My Daddy was going to live for 6. He was fighter. He was stubborn and wasn't going to let something like a brain tumor get him down.
I wish in my Daddy's case that attitude WAS everything because he would still be on this earth with us right now. I have a hard time hearing stories of people who have beat their illness that they weren't supposed to beat. Don't get me wrong, I rejoice with them and I still pray for them - but I have a hard time hearing of others beating the unbeatable. I feel like if someone was going to beat the unbeatable - it should've been my Daddy. Afterall, he had the right attitude. He had the fight. He had the determination and yes, he had the stubborness.
A few weeks ago someone said, "It just went so fast. He must have been ready to go." It was not meant to be a put down for my Daddy. But the first place my head went was NO...he was not ready to "go." He was in the very end but my Daddy was a fighter. I told this person through my angry hot tears, "He fought REALLY HARD." And he did. I feel the need to defend his fight...his attitude.
You see, some people are given a diagnosis such as my dad's and they give up. Why fight the inevitable? Why fight a disease that is going to ravage your body...yourself. My Daddy did NOT have that attitude. He had a fight until the bitter end attitude.
It's weird...I hear stories of people suffering a fate similar to my dad's and I want to will them to beat it. I pray and pray and want to send all the energy I can to their family and friends to help them fight it. Because that's what my dad would want.
So if you tell me a story of someone who beat the odds, I may cry. I may sob in fact. I'm still getting over the fact that my Daddy did everything right in regards to attitude. I'm angry that in my Daddy's case attitude didn't make him live longer. It didn't make him beat the unbeatable. It's not fair.
Yup, I said it. IT'S NOT FAIR. But life isn't fair. We lose people we love. Awesome people are dealt heavy blows. In my Daddy's case attitude WASN'T everything - but I'm still choosing to live my life with that old saying.
On another note, it's funny how I can be laughing and joking one moment and crying the next with a simple word. Not even a word such as 'glioblastoma' or 'brain cancer.' The word that set me off last night? Decadron. Don't know what it is? It's a steroid. A powerful one. It's the last drug that we took my dad off of besides the pain medication. We were hoping that keeping him on the Decadron would help with the swelling in his brain so we could get a few more sentences or alert moments out of him. Didn't work, but we tried.
So for the people at my meeting last night...I apologize that a simple word sent me into a tailspin. I was actually having the best time I've had for awhile and was laughing - usually that doesn't happen unless Gigi or one of my nephews is around. So thanks for laughing with me. And thanks for the hugs and for crying with me. :)
And it is. Attitude *is* everything. When my Daddy was first diagnosed the doctor told us that. That his attitude would determine his fate basically.
You know what sucks? His attitude DIDN'T determine his fate. I have never seen anyone have a better attitude when facing someting as serious as brain cancer. My Daddy was a fighter, he fought HARD. He worked HARD to get back on his feet literally. He worked hard in speech therapy and physical therapy and occupational therapy to gain back as much as he could.
He knew that glioblastomas weren't 'beatable.' He knew that he probably had 5 years at the most. The radiologist told him the longest he'd had a patient live with a glioblastoma was 5 years. My Daddy was going to live for 6. He was fighter. He was stubborn and wasn't going to let something like a brain tumor get him down.
I wish in my Daddy's case that attitude WAS everything because he would still be on this earth with us right now. I have a hard time hearing stories of people who have beat their illness that they weren't supposed to beat. Don't get me wrong, I rejoice with them and I still pray for them - but I have a hard time hearing of others beating the unbeatable. I feel like if someone was going to beat the unbeatable - it should've been my Daddy. Afterall, he had the right attitude. He had the fight. He had the determination and yes, he had the stubborness.
A few weeks ago someone said, "It just went so fast. He must have been ready to go." It was not meant to be a put down for my Daddy. But the first place my head went was NO...he was not ready to "go." He was in the very end but my Daddy was a fighter. I told this person through my angry hot tears, "He fought REALLY HARD." And he did. I feel the need to defend his fight...his attitude.
You see, some people are given a diagnosis such as my dad's and they give up. Why fight the inevitable? Why fight a disease that is going to ravage your body...yourself. My Daddy did NOT have that attitude. He had a fight until the bitter end attitude.
It's weird...I hear stories of people suffering a fate similar to my dad's and I want to will them to beat it. I pray and pray and want to send all the energy I can to their family and friends to help them fight it. Because that's what my dad would want.
So if you tell me a story of someone who beat the odds, I may cry. I may sob in fact. I'm still getting over the fact that my Daddy did everything right in regards to attitude. I'm angry that in my Daddy's case attitude didn't make him live longer. It didn't make him beat the unbeatable. It's not fair.
Yup, I said it. IT'S NOT FAIR. But life isn't fair. We lose people we love. Awesome people are dealt heavy blows. In my Daddy's case attitude WASN'T everything - but I'm still choosing to live my life with that old saying.
On another note, it's funny how I can be laughing and joking one moment and crying the next with a simple word. Not even a word such as 'glioblastoma' or 'brain cancer.' The word that set me off last night? Decadron. Don't know what it is? It's a steroid. A powerful one. It's the last drug that we took my dad off of besides the pain medication. We were hoping that keeping him on the Decadron would help with the swelling in his brain so we could get a few more sentences or alert moments out of him. Didn't work, but we tried.
So for the people at my meeting last night...I apologize that a simple word sent me into a tailspin. I was actually having the best time I've had for awhile and was laughing - usually that doesn't happen unless Gigi or one of my nephews is around. So thanks for laughing with me. And thanks for the hugs and for crying with me. :)
Monday, September 13, 2010
Two Months
2 months. 8 1/2 weeks. 61 Days. 1464 hours. 87,840 minutes.
That is approximately how long this earth has been without my Daddy. That is how long I've been without my Daddy.
I don't have anything to say really except for that I love and miss him. Terribly.
I keep telling myself that the dates have no power over me. The day is just that...a day. And sometime it will be just another day. When the 13th of the month rolls around someday it will just be the 13th of the month and not a monthiversary of the day my Daddy left this earth.
But today? The day does have power. I'm sad. But I'm remembering the good things.
That is approximately how long this earth has been without my Daddy. That is how long I've been without my Daddy.
I don't have anything to say really except for that I love and miss him. Terribly.
I keep telling myself that the dates have no power over me. The day is just that...a day. And sometime it will be just another day. When the 13th of the month rolls around someday it will just be the 13th of the month and not a monthiversary of the day my Daddy left this earth.
But today? The day does have power. I'm sad. But I'm remembering the good things.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
A Positive
I realized today (on this Grandparents Day - my Daddy was one of the good ones) that when I picture my Dad - when I think about him - my first picture of him in my mind is not those last few days in the hospital. It's not as sad to think about him anymore.
I still do have those pictures in my mind, but today? Today when I thought of him my first thought was of his eyes the night I said goodbye. The eyes that said, "I understand." The eyes that said, "I love you too." The eyes that said, "I'm proud to be your dad."
And that? Is a positive step towards healing.
I still do have those pictures in my mind, but today? Today when I thought of him my first thought was of his eyes the night I said goodbye. The eyes that said, "I understand." The eyes that said, "I love you too." The eyes that said, "I'm proud to be your dad."
And that? Is a positive step towards healing.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Homesick
Last night was a tough night for some reason. It was one of those gut-wrenching-literal-pain-in-my-heart nights. I cried and cried. Finally cried myself to sleep about 2:00 am.
While on the computer last night I stumbled upon the following song (it's amazing what you find when you Google "Sad Christian songs.") It actually didn't upload to my iPod before bed last night or I probably would've cried even harder. I wanted to listen to it but it somehow didn't upload.
I flounder about the day feeling like I have no where to belong. My home isn't comfortable because it makes me miss my Daddy. My Mama's house makes me miss my Daddy. Its a similar feeling to when my parents sold the house I grew up in. I didn't feel like I had a "home" to go to anymore. Little did I realize then how soon their new house would become "home" because that's where the family was. Home really is where my family is.
But part of my family is missing. Part of my heart is gone. He is in Heaven waiting for us, but here on earth we miss him. A.LOT. Someday we will get to see him in our heavenly home and we won't be homesick anymore.
For now, we grieve. We wait. We feel homesick. We cling to each other through this process. We have no control over our emotions.
On this anniversary of 9/11 I look back to where I was that day and how lost I felt then. That was nothing like the feeling I have now, but it was the first time that I felt many of these feelings that I am experiencing now. I didn't know anyone that perished that day but had a connection somehow to them. They were just going about their regular lives, working their regular days and someone decided to take their lives from them.
My Mama and I had visited the World Trade Center in April of 2001. We ate dinner at the 'Top of the World.' My boyfriend at the time (now my ex-husband) was working IN the towers for a month for training. We went to visit him and he proudly showed off the wonder that was the Twin Towers. We have goofy pictures of us at the top on the observation deck and in the gift shop. Just a short 5 months later those buildings would be...gone. An amazing wonder of arcitecture and American Spirit...reduced to a large pile of rubble.
I have not been back to NYC since then. I hope to get there someday and visit the site that I have seen and heard and read so much about. I hope to visit the memorial and pray for the victims families like I do here but have some sort of connection to what happened that awful day. I can't believe it's been 9 years.
Someday I hope I can look back and read this and see how much I was struggling at this point. I hope I can look back and see a different person - I hope I can see how broken I truly am but I hope by that point that I have learned to live with the brokenness and not be so sad everyday anymore.
While on the computer last night I stumbled upon the following song (it's amazing what you find when you Google "Sad Christian songs.") It actually didn't upload to my iPod before bed last night or I probably would've cried even harder. I wanted to listen to it but it somehow didn't upload.
HOMESICK
You're in a better place, I've heard a thousand times
And at least a thousand times I've rejoiced for you
But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry
Is how long must I wait to be with you
I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
Help me Lord cause I don't understand your ways
The reason why I wonder if I'll ever know
But, even if you showed me, the hurt would be the same
Cause I'm still here so far away from home
I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
In Christ, there are no goodbyes
And in Christ, there is no end
So I'll hold onto Jesus with all that I have
To see you again
To see you again
And I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
Won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
Won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
-MercyMeYou see, I had an entire post on how I was homesick before I even heard of this song. Yes, I live in my own house. Yes, I have my own family. But I no longer have 'my parents' home to go to. It's my Mama's house. Somethings missing there. SomeONE is missing there.
I flounder about the day feeling like I have no where to belong. My home isn't comfortable because it makes me miss my Daddy. My Mama's house makes me miss my Daddy. Its a similar feeling to when my parents sold the house I grew up in. I didn't feel like I had a "home" to go to anymore. Little did I realize then how soon their new house would become "home" because that's where the family was. Home really is where my family is.
But part of my family is missing. Part of my heart is gone. He is in Heaven waiting for us, but here on earth we miss him. A.LOT. Someday we will get to see him in our heavenly home and we won't be homesick anymore.
For now, we grieve. We wait. We feel homesick. We cling to each other through this process. We have no control over our emotions.
On this anniversary of 9/11 I look back to where I was that day and how lost I felt then. That was nothing like the feeling I have now, but it was the first time that I felt many of these feelings that I am experiencing now. I didn't know anyone that perished that day but had a connection somehow to them. They were just going about their regular lives, working their regular days and someone decided to take their lives from them.
My Mama and I had visited the World Trade Center in April of 2001. We ate dinner at the 'Top of the World.' My boyfriend at the time (now my ex-husband) was working IN the towers for a month for training. We went to visit him and he proudly showed off the wonder that was the Twin Towers. We have goofy pictures of us at the top on the observation deck and in the gift shop. Just a short 5 months later those buildings would be...gone. An amazing wonder of arcitecture and American Spirit...reduced to a large pile of rubble.
I have not been back to NYC since then. I hope to get there someday and visit the site that I have seen and heard and read so much about. I hope to visit the memorial and pray for the victims families like I do here but have some sort of connection to what happened that awful day. I can't believe it's been 9 years.
Someday I hope I can look back and read this and see how much I was struggling at this point. I hope I can look back and see a different person - I hope I can see how broken I truly am but I hope by that point that I have learned to live with the brokenness and not be so sad everyday anymore.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Sneaky Grief
Most days I go about my day - normal but with a bit of sadness. Some days I wake up sad and am just in the sad funk all day. Some days I wake up and think "this is the day that I will go without shedding a tear" and the grief sneaks up on me.
I am having ginormous motivation issues. GINORMOUS. Gigi is at school, I have no job, I have NOTHING to do but clean and organize my house. But yet? I don't. I don't know why.
It may be tied to the fact that my house *is* my dad. My dad came with me to buy it. My told TOLD me to buy it and that he would help me fix it up. I had a 'Daddy Do' list instead of a 'honey do' list. My Mama told me when I got my house cleaned up and organized that she would help me and get a handyman to help finish the projects that are started. I don't WANT a handyman to finish the projects my dad started. I want my dad to do it. (picture me with my arms crossed like a defiant toddler).
My mess is somehow comforting to me. Comfort in knowing that no one else is going to come in and do these projects. Like I'm waiting for my dad to come down from Heaven to do it or something. I am comforted by having a mess around me. Don't go all "Hoarders" on me because I don't hoard. I just am not organized at my house. My Mama is going to try though!
Today I had all day to get stuff done. ALLLLLL day. What did I get done? Not much. I am pretty darn good at Bubble Pop on Facebook though. Truth is...even with two antidepressants and one anti anxiety med...I'm depressed. I want to sleep my life away. When Gigi is home I have to be a productive person - she needs to be fed, bathed, read to, etc. When she is at school or with her dad? I'm a lump. L.U.M.P. I find comfort in that too. I keep hoping that one day I will wake up and my motivation will just be there. That somehow in my sleep my Daddy's energizer bunnyish ways (totally words!) will be transferred to me and I will magically get things done. Not happening.
Besides getting nothing done today I had an okay day. I wasn't particularly sad or melancholy. I went to pick Gigi up at church and we had supper there. Sat with a woman from our congregation who knows me and Gigi and knew of my mom and dad but never realized they were my parents or that I was their daughter. She asked how the job search went this summer and I immediately got choked up and told her my dad had passed away. She asked why. I told her. Then I mentioned that she knew who my parents were and the moment of recognition hit her face and immediately I got the "I'm so so sorry" look.
I did my best to hold back the tears but they sneak up so quickly. Grief is a sneaky little thing. She asked if we got quality time. Quality time? Well, yes. Enough time? Not in a million zillion years. I don't thing an infinite amount of time would have been enough.
Many people see me in public, at church or dropping Gigi off at school. I'm told how strong I am...how well I've handled "things." Things being what...being a single mom, my dad getting terminally ill, dying a short two months later, losing my job, having no money and having no idea how to pay my freaking bills..."things." I'm glad that they think I'm doing well.
The truth? I'm not. I'm a mess. I feel like I could breakdown and cry at any given moment whether it is appropriate or not. I struggle day to day with motivation. I struggle to not come back after getting Gigi off to school and just lay in my bed languishing the day away. I struggle. There will be glimmers of hope - a day full of laundry washing perhaps - but that is followed by days and days of darkness.
I'm overwhelmed. I'm sad. I'm depressed. Someday? I won't be. I just have to keep looking for that silver lining and for the days that grief doesn't sneak up on me.
I am having ginormous motivation issues. GINORMOUS. Gigi is at school, I have no job, I have NOTHING to do but clean and organize my house. But yet? I don't. I don't know why.
It may be tied to the fact that my house *is* my dad. My dad came with me to buy it. My told TOLD me to buy it and that he would help me fix it up. I had a 'Daddy Do' list instead of a 'honey do' list. My Mama told me when I got my house cleaned up and organized that she would help me and get a handyman to help finish the projects that are started. I don't WANT a handyman to finish the projects my dad started. I want my dad to do it. (picture me with my arms crossed like a defiant toddler).
My mess is somehow comforting to me. Comfort in knowing that no one else is going to come in and do these projects. Like I'm waiting for my dad to come down from Heaven to do it or something. I am comforted by having a mess around me. Don't go all "Hoarders" on me because I don't hoard. I just am not organized at my house. My Mama is going to try though!
Today I had all day to get stuff done. ALLLLLL day. What did I get done? Not much. I am pretty darn good at Bubble Pop on Facebook though. Truth is...even with two antidepressants and one anti anxiety med...I'm depressed. I want to sleep my life away. When Gigi is home I have to be a productive person - she needs to be fed, bathed, read to, etc. When she is at school or with her dad? I'm a lump. L.U.M.P. I find comfort in that too. I keep hoping that one day I will wake up and my motivation will just be there. That somehow in my sleep my Daddy's energizer bunnyish ways (totally words!) will be transferred to me and I will magically get things done. Not happening.
Besides getting nothing done today I had an okay day. I wasn't particularly sad or melancholy. I went to pick Gigi up at church and we had supper there. Sat with a woman from our congregation who knows me and Gigi and knew of my mom and dad but never realized they were my parents or that I was their daughter. She asked how the job search went this summer and I immediately got choked up and told her my dad had passed away. She asked why. I told her. Then I mentioned that she knew who my parents were and the moment of recognition hit her face and immediately I got the "I'm so so sorry" look.
I did my best to hold back the tears but they sneak up so quickly. Grief is a sneaky little thing. She asked if we got quality time. Quality time? Well, yes. Enough time? Not in a million zillion years. I don't thing an infinite amount of time would have been enough.
Many people see me in public, at church or dropping Gigi off at school. I'm told how strong I am...how well I've handled "things." Things being what...being a single mom, my dad getting terminally ill, dying a short two months later, losing my job, having no money and having no idea how to pay my freaking bills..."things." I'm glad that they think I'm doing well.
The truth? I'm not. I'm a mess. I feel like I could breakdown and cry at any given moment whether it is appropriate or not. I struggle day to day with motivation. I struggle to not come back after getting Gigi off to school and just lay in my bed languishing the day away. I struggle. There will be glimmers of hope - a day full of laundry washing perhaps - but that is followed by days and days of darkness.
I'm overwhelmed. I'm sad. I'm depressed. Someday? I won't be. I just have to keep looking for that silver lining and for the days that grief doesn't sneak up on me.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
People Change
I feel the need to tell everyone reading this...growing up? My dad and I didn't get along. AT.ALL.
When I was younger (like 18 and younger) my dad was not my favorite. Horrible to say yes, but I was a Mama's girl. My dad used to try to get K and I out of my Mama's hair on Saturday mornings and I flat out refused to go with him. He and K made a cross country road trip. Again, I would not go. That long in the car with my dad AND my sister? Not happening.
As I entered my tween and teen years - things went from bad to worse. My dad traveled for work and was home on the weekends. I looked at those times as him intruding on our little family of Mama, K and I. I was mean to him and he wasn't always understanding of me either.
I'm stubborn. My dad was stubborn. We fought about EVERYTHING. Mostly food, but a lot of other things too. My Mama told me I needed to listen to my dad. I didn't. After all, who was he to waltz in our house and change our routines? I see now how difficult it had to be to come home to a bratty kid like me. It's a good thing I've grown up, eh?
I was a picky eater. I stopped eating red meat for a long time (like 12 years) and that pissed my dad off to NO END. The meat and potatoes guy and me who would only eat chicken. I stopped because of a stupid dream and didn't start again because it was kind of fun to make my dad that angry by simply refusing to eat something. Bratty attitude and I hope Gigi doesn't follow suit.
My dad and I were like oil and water. It was just best to keep us apart because if we were together it was likely to be explosive. I was a Drama Queen and he didn't handle that well.
The year I went to college...things started to change. My dad moved me into my dorm room, laid my carpet, put together everything that needed to be put together and then? They left. My Mama and my Daddy got in their green pickup and drove out of the parking lot as I looked out my window with the tears rolling down my face. How could they just leave and not be sad? I learned later that both of them were sad but put on pretty brave faces for me.
Living on my own in a dorm room - I learned to appreciate my dad a little. They would come down to look at houses (at this point they had decided to leave the town I grew up in and move to where my school was - I tease that it was because they missed me so much but there were various reasons) and I would have my dad fix something for me. I would need a new lamp, or my dorm room door didn't open properly (as an aside did you know that you can actually bring a circular SAW into a dorm and cut off the bottom of the door and no one will blink an eye at you??). They moved here and their new house became "home."
It wasn't just home for me, but also my friends. We would go to my parents house for a hot tub night, a grilling night (with my dad manning the grill of course) or just to go. My sophomore year of college I got really sick and was hospitalized for 12 long days. Those days I realized just how lucky I was that my family was not only living in the same town as me, but also were just THERE for me.
When I moved into a house off campus my dad became more and more handy to me. By this point - I realized that maybe he was a pretty cool guy and that he didn't deserve my brattiness when I was young.
Life went on. I kept realizing that maybe...just maybe...the reason that my dad and I fought so much was because of certain parts of our personality were alike. Stubborn much?
I didn't really appreciate my Daddy fully until the day that he moved Gigi and I out of our townhouse and brought us home. I never knew the strength he had or the fierceness of his protection until that day. I'd never needed to know it. But that day? He would've killed someone to make sure we were safe.
Gigi and I lived with Daddy and Mama for four years. Four years as an adult getting to know my parents...as adults. My Daddy was pretty cool. I looked to him for all sorts of advice. I looked to him as a mentor and not just my Daddy.
My Mama told me not long after Gigi was born that my Dad had told her, "She was ready to be a mom. She's going to be a good one. I'm proud of her." My Daddy? Was proud of ME. He was proud of the one thing that I think I'm good at. Being a mom.
I was proud of my Daddy. I didn't realize until after he was gone how many lives he had touched...how many people he mentored...or just how many people loved him. I loved him.
I am so happy that I was able to redeem my bratty kid self as an adult. I am happy that I left nothing unsaid to my Daddy. I am happy that he knew how much I loved him and how much I would miss him. I am happy to know that he was at peace at the end and knew he was headed for a better place. I am happy that I took the last few months of his life to appreciate my Daddy and realize how much he meant to me.
At least I thought I knew how much he meant to me. It wasn't until after he died that I realized just how BIG the whole would be in my life...in my heart...with him gone. I didn't realize how angry I would be that he was so young when he died and angry that he will not be around to be Papa to Gigi anymore. He was one of the good ones...he loved his grandkids just like he loved his kids. It's a shame I didn't see that love when I was a child, but do feel as though I see it now.
In the last few days I was not able to sit in my dad's hospital room like my Mama could or K could. I couldn't see my strong Daddy in pain or uncomfortable or just not HIM. I would go in every so often just to see him and tell him how much I loved him. I didn't want to remember him that way - but yet those are the most prevalent memories now. I hope someday that the memories that come to me immediately are happy ones and the bad ones are gone.
I haven't had the heart to have Gigi stop saying "God Bless Papa" in her nightly prayers. We do the old "Now I lay me down to sleep..." standard but add on our special God Bless's at the end. It's automatic to say "God Bless Grandma and Papa...K and P..." I just can't have her stop. He still deserves to be blessed in Heaven, right?
"Not a good day today. First of all, I had to hurry in the shower and didn't get all the conditioner washed out. And my dad is home. That is NEVER a good day. Sometimes I wonder why he even comes home"
-a diary entry by 12 year old me
When I was younger (like 18 and younger) my dad was not my favorite. Horrible to say yes, but I was a Mama's girl. My dad used to try to get K and I out of my Mama's hair on Saturday mornings and I flat out refused to go with him. He and K made a cross country road trip. Again, I would not go. That long in the car with my dad AND my sister? Not happening.
As I entered my tween and teen years - things went from bad to worse. My dad traveled for work and was home on the weekends. I looked at those times as him intruding on our little family of Mama, K and I. I was mean to him and he wasn't always understanding of me either.
I'm stubborn. My dad was stubborn. We fought about EVERYTHING. Mostly food, but a lot of other things too. My Mama told me I needed to listen to my dad. I didn't. After all, who was he to waltz in our house and change our routines? I see now how difficult it had to be to come home to a bratty kid like me. It's a good thing I've grown up, eh?
I was a picky eater. I stopped eating red meat for a long time (like 12 years) and that pissed my dad off to NO END. The meat and potatoes guy and me who would only eat chicken. I stopped because of a stupid dream and didn't start again because it was kind of fun to make my dad that angry by simply refusing to eat something. Bratty attitude and I hope Gigi doesn't follow suit.
My dad and I were like oil and water. It was just best to keep us apart because if we were together it was likely to be explosive. I was a Drama Queen and he didn't handle that well.
The year I went to college...things started to change. My dad moved me into my dorm room, laid my carpet, put together everything that needed to be put together and then? They left. My Mama and my Daddy got in their green pickup and drove out of the parking lot as I looked out my window with the tears rolling down my face. How could they just leave and not be sad? I learned later that both of them were sad but put on pretty brave faces for me.
Living on my own in a dorm room - I learned to appreciate my dad a little. They would come down to look at houses (at this point they had decided to leave the town I grew up in and move to where my school was - I tease that it was because they missed me so much but there were various reasons) and I would have my dad fix something for me. I would need a new lamp, or my dorm room door didn't open properly (as an aside did you know that you can actually bring a circular SAW into a dorm and cut off the bottom of the door and no one will blink an eye at you??). They moved here and their new house became "home."
It wasn't just home for me, but also my friends. We would go to my parents house for a hot tub night, a grilling night (with my dad manning the grill of course) or just to go. My sophomore year of college I got really sick and was hospitalized for 12 long days. Those days I realized just how lucky I was that my family was not only living in the same town as me, but also were just THERE for me.
When I moved into a house off campus my dad became more and more handy to me. By this point - I realized that maybe he was a pretty cool guy and that he didn't deserve my brattiness when I was young.
Life went on. I kept realizing that maybe...just maybe...the reason that my dad and I fought so much was because of certain parts of our personality were alike. Stubborn much?
I didn't really appreciate my Daddy fully until the day that he moved Gigi and I out of our townhouse and brought us home. I never knew the strength he had or the fierceness of his protection until that day. I'd never needed to know it. But that day? He would've killed someone to make sure we were safe.
Gigi and I lived with Daddy and Mama for four years. Four years as an adult getting to know my parents...as adults. My Daddy was pretty cool. I looked to him for all sorts of advice. I looked to him as a mentor and not just my Daddy.
My Mama told me not long after Gigi was born that my Dad had told her, "She was ready to be a mom. She's going to be a good one. I'm proud of her." My Daddy? Was proud of ME. He was proud of the one thing that I think I'm good at. Being a mom.
I was proud of my Daddy. I didn't realize until after he was gone how many lives he had touched...how many people he mentored...or just how many people loved him. I loved him.
I am so happy that I was able to redeem my bratty kid self as an adult. I am happy that I left nothing unsaid to my Daddy. I am happy that he knew how much I loved him and how much I would miss him. I am happy to know that he was at peace at the end and knew he was headed for a better place. I am happy that I took the last few months of his life to appreciate my Daddy and realize how much he meant to me.
At least I thought I knew how much he meant to me. It wasn't until after he died that I realized just how BIG the whole would be in my life...in my heart...with him gone. I didn't realize how angry I would be that he was so young when he died and angry that he will not be around to be Papa to Gigi anymore. He was one of the good ones...he loved his grandkids just like he loved his kids. It's a shame I didn't see that love when I was a child, but do feel as though I see it now.
In the last few days I was not able to sit in my dad's hospital room like my Mama could or K could. I couldn't see my strong Daddy in pain or uncomfortable or just not HIM. I would go in every so often just to see him and tell him how much I loved him. I didn't want to remember him that way - but yet those are the most prevalent memories now. I hope someday that the memories that come to me immediately are happy ones and the bad ones are gone.
I haven't had the heart to have Gigi stop saying "God Bless Papa" in her nightly prayers. We do the old "Now I lay me down to sleep..." standard but add on our special God Bless's at the end. It's automatic to say "God Bless Grandma and Papa...K and P..." I just can't have her stop. He still deserves to be blessed in Heaven, right?
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Nightmares
I have always had very vivid dreams. My Daddy used to tease me because not only would I have these dreams but I remembered a large portion of them. One night as a middle school student I even slept walked into my parents room and pinched him - obviously in a dream I was very angry at him!
A friend that lost her dad a month before me has seen butterflies everywhere. At first she didn't want to see them as a sign from her dad, but I think now that butterflies have shown up and she's actually challenged them - she sees them as a sign too. Another friend lost her dad the same week as me. She has dreams of her dad.
I longed for some sort of sign from my Daddy that he's here and that he knows that we miss him. I long to feel the comfort of knowing that he is still around and watching over us. I figured that my Daddy would visit my dreams because of my history and how he used to tease me. My Daddy showed up in my dreams last night.
Dreams is not actually the correct word. Nightmares would be better. I remember at least two horrible nightmares from last night that my Daddy was in. This is not what I wanted and not what I expected. I guess I need to stop looking for signs if this is what I get.
If you want to stop here...feel free. I am going to write about my nightmares just because I need to somehow process them. Hopefully I will have a more positive blog entry soon. If anyone would like to analyze these nightmares, feel free. I've always found dream analyzation facsinating because I do have so many dreams.
In my first dream last night - it took place at the funeral home. I went to see my Dad's body just one last time. He was laying on some sort of hospital bed contraption and his body was all contorted like he had been uncomfortable and was trying to get into a comfortable position. It was then that I realized that when they took him to the funeral home that he had not died at all. He was still alive and realized that everyone thought he was dead. He tried and tried to get away and fought the sheet. Somehow I just knew that he had died struggling to let everyone know that he was not dead.
I woke up in a cold sweat and layed in bed for a bit thinking that when I fell back asleep my dreams would be more pleasant. That was not to be.
In my second dream - my Daddy was still in the hospital. He was laying in his hospital bed and I could hear the way he was breathing and he looked just like he looked the night he died. Everyone left me alone in the room with him and his eyes popped open. His eyes were cloudy and unresponsive much like they were in his last few days. But in my nightmare he looked at me and just said, "Help me."
Two simple words. Help me. He wanted me to help him. Simple but haunting. Help me. Help me, what Daddy? Help him die? Help him live? Help him talk? I couldn't get an answer...just Help Me over and over and over.
I couldn't help him. In my nightmare or in real life. I couldn't do anything. Maybe both of these dreams describe how helpless I felt (and feel). How I wanted to do ANYTHING to make him better. But I couldn't.
Now I am afraid to sleep. I am exhausted but I am afraid to even take a simple nap in case the nightmares return. I don't want to see my Daddy in my dreams if that is how I am going to see him. I would rather remember him the way he was when he was healthy but the images and sounds from the hospital haunt me.
I know that they were simply nightmares. I need to forget them. But I need to remember them because I feel the need to hang on to anything that involves him. The good, the bad and the ugly.
I miss my Daddy.
A friend that lost her dad a month before me has seen butterflies everywhere. At first she didn't want to see them as a sign from her dad, but I think now that butterflies have shown up and she's actually challenged them - she sees them as a sign too. Another friend lost her dad the same week as me. She has dreams of her dad.
I longed for some sort of sign from my Daddy that he's here and that he knows that we miss him. I long to feel the comfort of knowing that he is still around and watching over us. I figured that my Daddy would visit my dreams because of my history and how he used to tease me. My Daddy showed up in my dreams last night.
Dreams is not actually the correct word. Nightmares would be better. I remember at least two horrible nightmares from last night that my Daddy was in. This is not what I wanted and not what I expected. I guess I need to stop looking for signs if this is what I get.
If you want to stop here...feel free. I am going to write about my nightmares just because I need to somehow process them. Hopefully I will have a more positive blog entry soon. If anyone would like to analyze these nightmares, feel free. I've always found dream analyzation facsinating because I do have so many dreams.
In my first dream last night - it took place at the funeral home. I went to see my Dad's body just one last time. He was laying on some sort of hospital bed contraption and his body was all contorted like he had been uncomfortable and was trying to get into a comfortable position. It was then that I realized that when they took him to the funeral home that he had not died at all. He was still alive and realized that everyone thought he was dead. He tried and tried to get away and fought the sheet. Somehow I just knew that he had died struggling to let everyone know that he was not dead.
I woke up in a cold sweat and layed in bed for a bit thinking that when I fell back asleep my dreams would be more pleasant. That was not to be.
In my second dream - my Daddy was still in the hospital. He was laying in his hospital bed and I could hear the way he was breathing and he looked just like he looked the night he died. Everyone left me alone in the room with him and his eyes popped open. His eyes were cloudy and unresponsive much like they were in his last few days. But in my nightmare he looked at me and just said, "Help me."
Two simple words. Help me. He wanted me to help him. Simple but haunting. Help me. Help me, what Daddy? Help him die? Help him live? Help him talk? I couldn't get an answer...just Help Me over and over and over.
I couldn't help him. In my nightmare or in real life. I couldn't do anything. Maybe both of these dreams describe how helpless I felt (and feel). How I wanted to do ANYTHING to make him better. But I couldn't.
Now I am afraid to sleep. I am exhausted but I am afraid to even take a simple nap in case the nightmares return. I don't want to see my Daddy in my dreams if that is how I am going to see him. I would rather remember him the way he was when he was healthy but the images and sounds from the hospital haunt me.
I know that they were simply nightmares. I need to forget them. But I need to remember them because I feel the need to hang on to anything that involves him. The good, the bad and the ugly.
I miss my Daddy.
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