Category Archive

Today (which is officially yesterday, I suppose) is my birthday.

I laid around in my pjs, then got dressed. We went out to lunch (Friendly’s, my choice). Did a little shopping, then went and saw Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I don’t care what anyone says, I loved that movie. Loved. It.

Did some more shopping, and drooled over Coach purses. Got supplies and came home.

Tooled around some more, and got to baking. Two kinds of cookies and cupcakes later, I’m tired.

But satisfied.

It’s been a sad day. My dad and grandma are on my mind a lot- it’s the first year they haven’t called. Not to hear my grandma sing happy birthday to me is a little heartbreaking. Talking about how proud my dad was to have me, and know I’ll never hear that in his voice again- that’s hard.

But I’m trying to be happy, still. So let’s call it happy with smudges of sadness around the edges, for today.

In three states, in four cities, four women made the same thing tonight.

Used to be it was just one woman serving it to the four, plus a whole lot of others.

Tomorrow, in three states and four cities, a whole lot of people will taste it.

It doesn’t sound like much and it sure doesn’t look like much- it’s pink.

My grandma’s grape salad is the best, though. There are two things I cannot do Thanksgiving without- my grandma’s grape salad and my mom’s applesauce nut bread (Shannon- 2T of butter).

When I moved out to CA for college, those are the things I made. I didn’t care about a whole lot else. I brought it with me wherever I went.

So while I was not looking forward to cooking, as I pureed the cranberries to sit overnight, I got a little teary-eyed. Thinking about the other three woman who were thinking of her and probably getting a little teary eyed too.

My friend who lost a very close aunt today said she was trying to figure out how to honor those we had lost this year as we sit down to eat tomorrow. She chose to buy a pretty candle, and will light it before they eat in honor of her aunt. I thought the sentiment was sweet, but not for me. As silly as it sounds, I’ll honor grandma by making her grape salad. I think she would like it better than a candle.

Four women. Three states. Representing so many more. All missing her.

November has typically been a hard month for us. My husband has lots of painful memories of November, and he usually struggles through the month. Every year it gets better, and we can breathe a little easier.

Right about the time he stopped needing to crawl into a dark corner for the month, it became my turn.

For a long time the grief, depression and anger subsided. I felt whole getting through the day. It felt a little bit easier. I could think of them without crying, without not knowing what to do with myself. I could talk about them.

Then I started realizing that I was having a tough time with all of that. It started getting tougher to get through the days. I started thinking about what happened more. I started getting more snippy and snappy and out of sorts and… sad alot. I realized it was the end of October.

I realized it was almost November. I told Khalil that I would like to crawl into bed now and come out in 2008. Clearly 2007 has been the worst year of my life. I used to hear people ask what was the best year and what was the worst year of your life. And I used to think I didn’t have a worst year. I knew there were years with best parts and worst parts, but not a whole year of best or worst. I now know what a worst year feels like. It’s when you feel like from the time the clock says 12:01 on January first, on through every day, you just can’t wait for the year to be over. It’s the year when every time you turn around the hits keep coming. It’s the year when you never really full like you can take a deep breath of pure air and just smile and be happy.

I now know what that feels like. This has been my worst year.

I realized a few things about November. First of all, it’s November. Which is always hard and I always dread.

The second thing I realized about November is this: the nightmare I called my life for six months started the day before Thanksgiving. That day I brought my grandma to the eye doctor. She had some loss of vision and wanted to get it checked out. The day is a bit fuzzy for me, but I remember being scared that she was not going to be ok. We didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of the brain tumors that eventually killed her.

Third, it’s the start of the Holiday Season. Halloween comes, and then it’s all about the HOLIDAYs! People start asking about Christmas shopping and what your holiday plans are. The truth is, I literally don’t know how to face the holidays this year. I’m sure when they come I’ll grin and bear it. But I don’t really want to. I want to, as I said, crawl into bed and just skip them. I’m not entirely convinced on why I can’t. That would be one way to get through the season. My memories of last year are tainted. My dad came on Thanksgiving. He was not feeling well, but my stepmom wanted to come and I wanted him here. He spent the meal time asleep on our bed, and then they went home. It was sad, and I remember feeling sad. I remember so desperately wanting him to enjoy the day with us. Christmas Eve came, and we always spend that with my dad and my stepmom’s family. It was fun, but it was a tough year because you could just see how sick he was. It was also Christmas Eve of 05 when we realized he looked sicker. So Christmas Eve 06 was a painful memory of how healthy he looked when we thought he looked so sick. Because now he really looked sick. But I remember treasuring being there. Christmas came, and we talked alot about Christmas. Because my mom, sister, and I were scared it would be the last one we would have with my grandma. And it was. It was the last I had with both of them.

This year is the first without them. And my life comes full circle. I’m heading back towards the day that started the hardest months of my life. And I’m scared to death. I don’t know how to walk through all of it. I don’t.

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I wrote this about a week ago, but didn’t post it. I’m figuring it out- you walk through it by putting one foot in front of the other. Every day. That’s the only way.

Today is Veteran’s Day.

My dad was a veteran.

He was an alcoholic too, but I believe that the war he served in had a huge impact on his alcoholism. There’s no way to say that being in the war = alcoholic = death, and no way to guarantee it wouldn’t have turned out the same way if he hadn’t served. But I believe it had a part. A big one.

Happy Veterans Day.

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I don’t mean this post to take away from honoring and thanking our veterans for what they have done for us as a country. I greatly appreciate all that veterans do for us and for our country.

Thank you, Veterans. Thank you, dad. I’m so sorry.

For the longest time, ER was the show I cried to all the time. Like, every week. Then, well, ER got boring, and none of the original actors remained, and I stopped watching.

Then I was a social work intern at a hospital, and they were all talking about Grey’s. So I started watching, about 3 episodes in, and I couldn’t stop. And it became, like ER and also Dawson’s Creek (don’t ask) one of those shows that I love and that make me cry. All the time.

The Dead Dad’s Club episode aired before I was part of the dead dad’s club. I remember that I already knew my dad was sick, and wondering if I’d ever be a part of it. And hoping that I wouldn’t.

And then I was.

And now I hate the episodes where there are scenes where someone’s on life support. And where George is dealing with the aftershocks of his dad’s death. And giving speeches about giving his dad his heart if he could have.

They make me cry.

When you’re young, before you realize there are other people out there, parents are your world. We rely on them for everything- our basic needs, and our emotional needs. They feed us, change our diapers, potty train us. They apply the band-aids and kisses. They tell us everything will be ok, that they are here for us. They make everything better with a single hug, smile, or kiss. I’m always amazed at how magical kissing a child’s ‘boo boo’ is. To a child, a kiss from a parent is their world. Children haven’t yet learned that there are other people in the world, their parents are their world. They wake up to their parents, and go to bed with them.

As they get older, other people start to enter their realm. Aunts, uncles, child care providers, teachers, friends. They start moving farther and farther away from parents to explore relationships with these other people. All the relationships are built in the framework that they have created with their parents. If the framework was abusive, children are mistrusting. If the relationships with parents was nurturing and caring, children learn that the world is a safe place. They base their interactions with others on their interactions with their parents. They are the anchors. The little rowboats of children float away, but always come back to the anchor of their parents.

Kids get older. They move away from being infants and children and we call them kids and teens. Parents are edged out as their world increasingly becomes about peers, school, and themselves. Always, though, always, this is set in the framework of their parents. If children have a stable and trusting relationship with their parents, they are more free to explore their ever-expanding world. Always, always, even as they are edged out, parents are there. Maybe ever more in the background, but always there.

When we go to college, and move on, our world shifts away from our parents. We begin to recognize their wisdom and call for advice, and sometimes actually listen to the advice. Even as we begin to build our own world full of adult relationships, school, work, and futures with all the potential, we move back to our anchors, our parents. We may push them away, still like a teenager thinking we know everything and better than they do, but nonetheless, we begin to listen. We look for their approval and while we deny it, their love and approval colors our decisions. Again, they are ever there.

As we move on, our relationships with our parents can grow to mature. They are parents but also friends. They are less of rule-makers and more of supporters. Always, always our anchors.

I don’t think I realized all of this until I lost one of my anchors.

Parents remind us of who we are. Our whole history is attached to them. Even if you don’t call or see them for a week or a few months, they are there. Always, always there. Happy to hear from you, telling you they love you. They are us. The fact that they are a phone call away, a drive, and always willing to be there when you need them is comforting. Whether we know that or not.

I know that people of all ages have parents die. Obviously this year was when I had it happen to me. It still catches me by surprise. I wonder if it still surprises me because I didn’t see him all the time. He was a few weeks to a few months between phone calls. He was a wave on the road as we passed each other. He was at holidays and special events. He wasn’t every day or even every week. So I don’t feel the pangs every day. I feel the loss of the anchor more than I feel the daily emptiness. I feel it when I go to call him to say hi, or ask a question. I had a dream where I needed to find out about loose electrical shocks. (It made no sense, but he was an electrician.) I kept suggesting we call my dad, and everyone ignored me. I can’t remember if we did or not. It’s that emptiness that makes me suck in my gut and can bring me to tears.

I don’t know how to handle it still. I don’t break out in tears, but I am dreading the holidays, in all honesty. I have hated this whole damn year, 2007 has sucked, and I don’t want to deal with the 2007 Thanksgiving or Christmas. I am going Christmas shopping today and I couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to go. It wasn’t until I started mentally preparing my Christmas list that I realized why I didn’t want to go- it was because there are people missing on my list, people that it would be silly to buy gifts for because- well, because they’re dead. I want to fast forward from now until January, when I can start a whole new year over and have some hope that it will be better.

One of my anchors is gone, and the emptiness just doesn’t quit.

Last night I was all kinds of “off” and just couldn’t figure out why. Was snippy, didn’t want to get off the couch. Wanted to lay around and pretend like that was all I ever did.

This morning I figured out why.

I was listening to my Nickelback CD, and this song came on. I listened to this song alot back in March. A. Lot. I would blast it in my car and belt it out. It made me feel alive, made me want to be alive. The phrase “Amen I, I’m Alive”- I would sing it over and over. It felt like everyone was dying, and I needed a way to stay connected to life.

The song came on in the car, and I realized.

It has been six months since you have been- not alive. The other day Khalil asked me to go grocery shopping with him. He rarely does this, but he did this time. I went, begrudgingly (I’ve never liked grocery shopping in general). But I got to the store and it hit me like a ton of bricks. This is what I used to do with you every other weekend. I still know your habits and could probably get the main things off your list. Veggies from the salad bar. Tomatoes on the vine. Milk in the purple jug. Aveeno. There was a reassurance to getting certain things every week, but also trying to find the new things that you saw commercials for that our grocery store never carried. The spray salad dressing. The pain stuff you wipe on your forehead.

You had fallen, and had black eyes. You didn’t really make a big deal out of it, but I was sad. These were some of the last pictures we took with all of you, and look at those black eyes.

Rory was still little here, and was smelling your hair. You were laughing hysterically, which was cracking us up. It was so funny, but especially because you just loved cats. You always asked about Rory, and always loved on her when you came. You indulged me my little stories about her and laughed at all the parts where other people just look at me like I’m crazy because I’m talking about my cat like she’s a person. How could I not? It’s in my blood.

You were really happy at your 80th. So surprised, and happy. I’m glad we did that for you. It was also your last birthday.

This is you with my other Grandma, dad’s mom. You guys were really cute together, sitting there holding hands.

Look at that. Four generations. That’s a nice picture. We’re lucky to have you.

That is the smile I remember best.

I love you and still miss you.

It’s weird when you go to therapy. And you think that, if handed a question, you’d say one thing. Then out of your mouth pops this whole other thing that was totally unexpected.

Like, for instance. You are supposed to say something to your dad. You think that you’d probably tell him you miss him.

Instead you tell him how sorry you are.

Huh. If nothing else, therapy sure is food for thought.

It’s the little, day to day incidents that get me.

It’s when I walk into the grocery story where I took you shopping every week. And go in the side we used to go in, and am confronted with the salad bar. And have to fight the urge to fill a plate exactly how you would want it, which you would tell me every time, despite the fact that I knew it by heart.

It’s when I drive by a motorcycle, and pick up my phone to call you. It’s not until I see your name that I realize you’re not there to call.

It’s when I drive by where you lived. I was there so often, I can’t even stand to drive by it.

It’s when I see a red or grey van. With a working guy inside, doing the kinds of things you used to do. I still look to see if you’re the one driving the van- sometimes you were, and it was always fun to beep and wave, see your smile of surprise, and your wave. It’s realizing I’ll never see that wave again.

It’s going to Panera. And being tempted to get the Caesar salad- without chicken-, broccoli cheddar soup, and a hazelnut coffee. Not because it’s what I liked there.

It’s having to stop myself when someone mentions they need a good electrician in our area. Because I no longer know one.

It’s the fact that I don’t think I’ll be able to go to Outback again. I always hated it there, but went with you. Because you loved it. And if they ever put one in town, I think I’ll cry. You so wanted one in town, and if they put one here you won’t be able to eat it.

It’s when I go to the restaurant we went to when you and mom were first divorced. It’s different- Mexican now- but I still remember so much about that night. It was awkward, and sad, but I now realize how hard you were trying.

It’s remember how much you loved Dairy Queen. Knowing that I got that from you and mom. We are an ice cream group.

It will be Christmas Eve. We always spent it with you guys, and I don’t know what I’ll do this year. Sit home? It was hard figuring out how to split holidays, but it ended up working out. Christmas Eve was always fun at your house. Where will I get pierogies now?

It was when the baby daffodils came out. They were one of your favorite flower, and every year at some point I made it a point to buy you some. You were always so grateful, for the littlest, most silly stuff.

It’s when the car starts to make funny noises. As much as I love Khalil, he’s not a car guy. I’d call you, and you’d lecture me about not changing the oil, or keeping the gas full. But you’d always come get me if I needed you to.

It’s when no one asks about Rory. You asked- every time. And I always felt like it mattered to you. You loved cats, even though mine put you in the hospital that one time when you met her. You still loved her.

It’s going to be when we have children- your grand and great-grand children. Neither one of you will be here, and my children would have been so blessed to know you guys. You both would have been so proud.

It’s the moments when I think of you, and how much I loved you. It makes my heart ache to know that you’re not still here with me.

Often times I will be talking about something a friend of mine said, and whomever I’m talking to will ask where I know that friend from. “Oh, my board.” They know who I am talking about, in general at least. For almost five years now I have been a part of an online community. We started on a public message board and not too long later migrated to a private one. We have been there for each other, virtually, through thick and thin. We have had weddings and divorces. Babies and infertility. Deaths and tragedies. Joys and laughter.

But today something happened that hit all of us. Never as hard as the person whom it actually hit, but nonetheless.

One of my friends, a person I consider a friend despite the fact that I’ve only met her a few times in “real life”, her husband passed away. He had a very unexpected and tragic death. And I can’t imagine.

I cannot imagine the pain. I now know the pain of losing my father and grandmother. I cannot, in my wildest imagination, fathom the pain of losing a husband. My heart cracks into a million pieces every minute I think of my friend and her babies. I don’t know what to say or how to reach out. There is no way to make this better. I have so many feelings and reactions, but tonight I don’t want this to be about me. This is about my friend, her pain, her loss.

We are all holding our loved ones closer tonight. Tonight, a community of women who has known each other for a long time, shared far more kind words than sharp words, and held each other up through time, is grieving together for one of our own. If you’re reading this, know that we are here for you. Know that there is nothing we won’t do to hold you up right now. We love you.

Yes. I’ve been a slacker.

It’s just that… sometimes I don’t know what to write. Do I really want to talk about being sad? About not knowing how to manage the sad? Not so much. So I just don’t. If I ignore it, perhaps it will go away? Doubtful, but one can hope, no?

I’ll get there.

To the person who found my blog by searching “I didn’t cry when my dad was dead” I’m just so, so sorry.

When my dad died I found myself totally incapable of understanding up from down. I didn’t know what to expect as far as my feelings, and to some extent I still don’t. I haven’t had a breakdown in a few weeks, and I keep asking myself, “Am I ok?” “Am I just stuffing all my feelings and they’re going to come out in some awful form a year down the road?”. When he died I’d search the internet - ‘grief groups’, ‘parents dying’, ‘dad dying’, ’stages of grief’, etc.

I’d browse what I’d found, but none of it seemed to quite fit. I knew- know- that I was- am- grieving, but I’ve never quite had this experience before. I didn’t know what to expect, what to feel next, how to react. I just knew that I was so freaking sad. And totally and completely overwhelmed. The biggest feeling was that of confusion. I felt confused about the fact that I was living in a world where my dad was not. I felt confused by all of my feelings. I felt lost as to how to proceed and how to manage everything.

I still don’t have any answers. I guess the biggest thing is that- you have to make your own way when you’re grieving. Everyone does it differently, and different ways are grieving are ok, as long as you’re feeling the feelings. I still get sad. When I bought my husband’s birthday card- well, birthday cards for husbands are right next to birthday cards for dad. Buying my dad’s birthday card was always a tricky situation, because we didn’t have a typical relationship. Our relationship wasn’t always easy. I found myself reading the cards for dads. I wondered to myself if I would cry, right there in Wal-Mart. I didn’t, but I was a grouchy mess the rest of the night. Had I actually talked about it, I may have handled it better. Instead I stuffed it and pretended it didn’t exist.

Because I got so tired of grieving. So tired of being sad. So tired of every day having to face the fact that my dad was gone. I kind of started trying to ignore it. The fact of the matter is that you can’t ignore it. I have to feel how I feel, otherwise I will manage those feelings in negative ways. I will eat them, or spit them out at my husband, or let them grow inside until they’re too big to manage.

So to the person who didn’t  cry when their dad was dead: I think that’s ok. But if I was to tell you anything- don’t ignore how you feel. It’s going to come up one way or another. If you don’t cry it out, that’s ok. Everyone handles feelings differently.

The only way to describe how I feel about Him right now…

Psalm 22:1: My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me??

I had a dream last night that I had a baby girl, and was trying to nurse her. I ran out of milk and I had to take a milk bath in order to get more milk to come in. Then I had my baby girl back again, and was nursing her.

I had a baby girl. In my dream.

I woke up today and I was out and about on errands. I thought, “Wait! Grandma should need to go grocery shopping this week!” Then it hit me.

The check on dad’s life insurance policy came today. It says: In settlement of your claim under contract ### on the life of WLB (my dad’s full name) DECEASED.

I know I’ve gained some weight, but I’m walking around today feeling like I am carrying 100 extra pounds with me wherever I go. The weight of the truths of my life are heavy today.

I’ve always been a crier. I have friends who are worse, but I do cry alot. I cry when I get mad. I’ll stop talking, and get very quiet, and cry. Which makes me even MORE mad, because I think, “Why am I crying? Why aren’t I yelling?”. I just cry.

I cry when I’m lonely. I cry when I’m tired. I cry when I’m scared, and even sometimes when I’m nervous. And yes, occasionally when I’m happy.

I also cry when I’m sad. Since dad and grandma died, this has happened in a specific pattern. I cried most of the way home from Pittsburgh, and then on and off the next day. Then I didn’t cry, for two solid days. Not a tear. I acted like everything was quite. alright. Then we went to order the flowers, and I lost it. And I lost it for the rest of the day. I teared up all day and then at night had a huge breakdown. Sobbing for what feels like ever while Khalil holds me.

Since then that is how it works. I have a few dry days, and one day where I feel like I’m on the edge, and then I lose it. On my dry days, this is a dandy way to live. I can almost forget that I’m grieving and pretend that I’m doing just fine, thankyouverymuch. The on-the-edge days suck. I spend all day trying not to cry. Swallowing my tears. Even if the reasons to cry have nothing to do with anything, I don’t want to cry.

Because since I started with the breaking down, crying scares me. I’m out of control, and heaving big sobs. I don’t typically cry like this. I cry, and then move on. These tears are hard to move on from. I spend a long time crying, then a long time calming down. I hate it. So I spend the days avoiding it. Which is not the best way to manage grief, I’m fairly sure.

I know I will get there. The days between crying are more and more- two, then three, then four, five. I know I’ll get there. I know that I will heal. I know I will miss them, and eventually figure out a way to say goodbye. I know I’ll always miss them but at someone I’ll integrate into my life the fact that I don’t have my grandma or father anymore.

I know I’ll get there, but in the meantime?? I just get through the day.

Those were the three numbers that showed up on my scale on Monday. In that order. Last time I stepped on a scale, it was a bit closer to… 18something. 3? 5? I have gained at least fifteen pounds. In approximately two months. That’s by far the fastest I’ve ever gained, I think at least. I certainly don’t question that I gained it. I am the Queen of Eating Crap and Not Exercising.

When I mentioned to Khalil how much weight I’ve gained, he said, “Hon?” and I said, “What?” He said, “It’s ok”. And I have to believe him. Am I sad? Yes. Am I frustrated? Yes. Do I have to let all of that go and focus on what I have to do? Yes.

I’m frustrated with myself. I hate the way my body looks. I’m still trying to squeeze my 1 9 9 body into my 1 8 3 clothes. The result is not cute. I do not recommend it. I had to pull out the big tub and pull out some of my 1 9 9 clothes. That was sad, frustrating, and a wee bit… humiliating? I didn’t do it in front of anyone, but still feel humiliated. I put those clothes away with the plans to never pull them out again unless I was losing baby weight. Instead I’m losing stress and baby weight. Which royally sucks.

I hate the way my body feels. I have a distinct recollection of not having all of this extra fat on my body. I remember when I had more energy. I remember not feeling this way. I remember not cringing when I looked in the mirror. Those feelings aren’t far away because time wise, it was only about a month and a half to two months ago when I felt that way. I remember being frustrated about gaining a little weight over Christmas. About not being able to get under 181. Now I’m back at almost 200.

Here’s the thing. In order to not feel my feelings, I’m still eating them. Also, I’m doing this in part because I just don’t yet feel like I have the energy to make the good food choices. So I’m still making the crappy food choices. Go me. Every time I’m presented with the option, I make a crappy choice. Choice A: (somewhat less crappy) sausage and peppers and onions, on a small roll, two slices of cheese. Apple. Small bag of chips. Choice B: (seriously more crappy) Quarter pounder with cheese, fries, diet coke, chocolate shake. What do you think I chose yesterday? B. Why? For the simple reason that I felt like it. And I couldn’t bear to deny myself food. Not yet. I feel so sad, so overwhelmed, so frustrated with everything else that I cannot. deny. myself. food.

On the upswing, I have been exercising. I have worked out the last three days in a row. I’m tired, and having a hard time getting through the workouts. But I’m pushing through. Making this positive choice, the choice to do something really and truly good for me feels oh-so-good. It feels right. It makes me happy. Then I enter the rest of my day. And that feeling fades away into the stress, sadness, and being overwhelmed.

I know that I will get there. I have no doubt that I will be back to the place where I can make positive choices about food. Where I can deny myself the negative choices and remind myself that I’m worth the better choices. And that what feels like self-denial is really self-praise, because it means that I’m loving myself enough to make the positive choices. In the meantime, I shall cross my fingers that the exercise helps, and I’ll give myself a little extra room and forgiveness. I will know that I will get there, and that time will be soon. It’s coming.

Since about Thanksgiving, when we first had the inclination that something was wrong with my grandma, my life has mainly been focused on the health of my father or grandma. There wasn’t alot I talked about at first, I didn’t want to talk about what was going on. The holidays passed, and grandma got her diagnosis and dad left to go start getting his clearances for the transplant. The intesity of worrying about them increased. At one point my sister commented, “It feels like it’s all anyone talks about”. And it was. All anyone talked about. What else was there to talk about?

Then came February. It feels to me a little like time has stopped since February. I went to sleep and am just now waking up from a nightmare. One in which I spent three weeks watching my dad’s health decline rapidly. A nightmare where I came home and said goodbye to my grandmother. Helped plan her funeral and then attended it. A nightmare where I got a phone call first telling me the good news about dad’s transplant. A dream where I started to hope that he’d make it. That he’d come home and live to tell the story. Where we could tell him what happened while his health declined, the things he wouldn’t remember. Then I got a second phone call, the day after burying grandma. That dad had 12 hours to live. A nightmare where I said goodbye to my dying father. And then planned his funeral. And attended it.

The funny thing about waking up from this particular nightmare? Is that I’m waking up to find that it’s all true. That my life is bereft of two very important people. That my future has lost their presence in my life.

Tomorrow I will wake up and go to work. I will plan the month of April and not warn my clients that I may need to leave again. I will plan to spend every weekday during the month of April at work. The weekends relaxing, cleaning. I have to start the serious business of grieving. Of becoming the girl who no longer takes grandma grocery shopping on the weekends. Who no longer has a father to call and ask a question about my car.

I have to move on. I have to wake up from the nightmare and start living my life again. I need to do this while giving myself the time to grieve. I just don’t know how. What do I talk about?

Things that kick you in the gut. And end your two day dry-eyed spell:

~Make a collage of your dad, with your sister and stepmother. Realize as you look through the collage that there will be no more pictures of your dad. Ever.

~Go back to the funeral home to pick up more boards (there are lots of pictures).

~Go pick out flowers for your dad’s funeral. While looking through the book, think: I don’t know. I couldn’t pick out wedding flowers, how am I going to pick out funeral flowers? And who ever heard of anything more sad than ‘funeral flowers’? Get to the part where the florist asks what to put on the ribbon. Stare at her, uncomprehending what she means, then realize… choke out “I’m his daughter” as you start to bawl. Bury your head in your sister’s shoulder and curse the world for the dry eyed spell ending today. Choke over the word “dad” as you realize that you are, in fact, buying flowers for your dad’s funeral. Dad’s. Funeral.

~The thought of buying an outfit? For the funeral? Makes me cry again.

~Go home. Call two of his old friends. Catch a sob in the back of your throat when you say, “I needed to call you to tell you that *catch* my dad passed away Thursday”. Do this not once, but twice.

~Have your sister call you on the way home. Cry with her because she usually calls Grandma when she’s almost home. Grandma isn’t there to call.

I can live in the land of denial. I’m somewhat… not happy, but… content? not devastated? in the land of denial. But there were moments today that I couldn’t ignore that meant that my father is, in fact, dead. As they added up, I was destroyed more and more by each one. Khalil and I were talking yesterday about why I hadn’t cried in a few days, why I was feeling OK. We talked about the fact that I didn’t see dad every day, and wait for holidays. When there’s no dad’s to go to. When I’m doing my yearly album and there are no pictures of dad to put in. It is the little moments. It’s not, for me at least, the big picture. The big picture devastates me, but it’s the little moments that kick me in the gut and make me feel like I just can’t breathe. And the tears come and I hate it when the tears come.

The further away I move, in time, from what happened with my father, the less it feels like reality to me. I feel like the pieces of my days that deal with my father dying are part of a dream, a nightmare. That I’ll wake up and go see him, and he’ll be laughing his ass off. “I got you guys!” Yeah. He would have thought it was funny.

I feel like it couldn’t possibly have happened. There is no way I stood at a hospital bed with my sister and cried and said goodbye to him. That memory feels fuzzy at the edges and faded. For the first day it was sharp as a broken piece of glass, digging into my heart constantly. The small amount of time has dulled it. I try to remember what happened and my brain will not let me go back there. I can grasp pieces of time, small words and pictures of the moments. I can’t think it through all at once.

I can almost pretend like it didn’t happen. I can pretend that it was a dream. That the time that I have spent since then has all been a dream, and I’m going to wake up. I’m going to wake up, and go to work, and accept the condolences for my grandma. And people will ask me how my father is doing, and I’ll tell them that he pulled through the infection and is recovering. I’m heading out there next week. I can almost pretend that might be true.

I spend lots of time away from tears. With dry eyes, getting through my day. I feel drained, it’s true. I feel like I have been scraped empty and there’s not much inside of me. I can feel that way without falling apart as long as I can pretend that it might be possible that my dad isn’t dead.

As Khalil and I drove home Thursday night, I kept saying it out loud. My dad died. My dad is dead. I kept trying to make that reality a reality. The pain felt real. The memory of him leaving us was still sharp and real. I just didn’t- don’t- know how to work that into my reality, into my life. I don’t know how to be a daughter whose father is gone. I don’t want to know how.

As long as I can pretend it might not be real, I can walk through my day. I can get out of bed. I can take a shower and get dressed. Eat and sleep. Do the things that need to be done. Get the details for an obituary. Find pictures of my dad. Tell people over and over that he died and then when ‘the services are’. I can do all of that as long as, somewhere in the back of my head, I keep believing this is all a nightmare I am going to wake up from.

It feels weird, feeling as if you are moving in a dream. It makes all of the edges a wee bit fuzzy, a little less defined. I still feel like I could wake up at any time.

I am fairly sure this is what they call denial.