Thursday, 22 May 2014


Today I'm spiralling.  I'm unable to produce this blog, as it is taking effort away from my grief.  The more I turn my back on my grief, the harder it will hit later.  I have a votive candle with my father's picture on it.  It is right under the television. Since I watch a lot of t.v. I am always glancing at it and that is when I realize that he is gone.  Each time I realize that he is gone, my breath hitches and that skipped breath makes its way to my heart.  Each time I realize that he is gone a new hitched breath attaches itself to the last.  Air is not heavy, but the meaning of that air is heavy.  It weighs my heart down until it cannot support the air anymore.  The only means of relief is to cry. No not true, a few tears are manageable. Just wipe away and smile.  What is coming, what happens when you ignore grief for a second, a minute, a day, is that it has to come out.  When it does it is ugly.  Full sob. Lie on your bed with a pillow in your face sob.  A sob that you wish was a scream but this pain is so, so private that I don't want to share it with anyone.

I never thought I would miss him THIS much.  I never thought it would feel like a piece of me is gone.  I never knew I had this piece, until it left.  I don't even know what it was shaped like, or what it was made of, it just disappeared when he died.  When he was dying, I didn't even feel it detach.  I think that is what hope does, it distracts you from your pain, until it can hide any more coins behind your ear.  Until the plain truth, that hope is an illusion, is so evident.  What's more annoying is that I am full of hope.  Wonderful right?  But where did hope lead us?  Last year, January 2013, my mother was hospitalized for her heart.  Fear paralysed my thoughts and all I could do was cry, cry at the thought of losing her, cry at the thought that my father would be alone, cry because I did not have a baby yet and she was going to die without meeting her grandchild.  Hope kicked in when she was given a defibrillator a new diet and lifestyle restrictions.  We grieved her old busy life and accepted a slower paced life.  New hope.  Oops was I standing on that carpet?  It just got ripped out from under me.  My mother in law in April of the same year was admitted for a rare disease.  A disease that only 20 people in Canada have!!! Ya, so she went through an onslaught of doctors poking and prodding her.  Her kidneys almost failed so dialysis for three months was her reality. Etc. Etc. Don't feel like going into all the details but just so you know, this year, she had cancer and was following Chemo! Bam! That felt like a stick in my bicycle spokes just as I was relishing the fresh air on my cheeks.  But right before the Cancer diagnosis, my father goes in the hospital for a brain toumor.  A fucking brain toumor! Really?  I'm running through the steps but you have to realize every step was agonizing.  Every phone call made us sick to our stomaches.  I didn't want to answer the phone for fear of more bad news. And it came.  He had to be operated.  We had to visit this man that no longer looked like himself.  We had to be strong, but I cannot, will not have a poker face so I cried.  The operation was a success, he went home.  Mom had to take care of him, he was weak, she was weak, he went back to the hospital.  The cancer spread, there was nothing to be done.  The other shoe dropped, he would die.  He died.  Everyone keeps saying that at least he got to see his grand baby.  I try to believe this is wonderful, for him.  I try to think that this is wonderful for mom.  I cannot see how wonderful this is for me or for her.  She will never meet him.  He won't pick her up after school as a surprise.  She will never fall asleep in his arms.

I can't continue.........

1 comment:

  1. you're so beautiful, always...I wish I could be more like you.