Friday, 25 July 2014

New meanings

I'm listening to Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" and a line that I have sung so many times holds a new revelation.  She says "we can dance until we die," - I've sung it, I've felt it with my husband.  Wanting to lie in each other's arms "until we die".  Now I realize, unless the girl in the song is lucky enough (yes I said lucky) to die at the same time as her love, she and he will never feel the pain of losing someone, of being alone all of a sudden every day, until she dies.  The revelation every day that my father is gone is crushing. Every day something reminds me of him.  I cannot believe that I used to think of him this much when he was alive but he now haunts every waking moment.  I don't depend on him, but I need him.  I miss him so, and the simple remedy of just going over to see him and my mom is gone.  Now when I miss him, I cry.

I look in the mirror,
My cheeks are stained with tears,
My eyes are red and puffy,
My lips are shut tight and my chin quivers,
The adult I am looking at wants to stop crying.
She goes away and I am staring at a little girl,
Eyes welling with tears,
She holds her breath,
One blink is all it takes to start crying again.
The little girl weeps with her mouth open,
She runs to her room
Throws herself on her bed and cries into her pillow.
I want my daddy.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

Holding Back

Every day, every hour, maybe even every minute, I hold back.  I hold back the pain, the tears the devastation.  Every day, every hour, maybe even every minute I think of something else.  The baby is a constant distraction, my husband, the guilt of a mother not having done this and not having done that.  Every day, every hour and maybe even every minute there is something else to do, breakfast lunch and supper for the baby, for myself, supper for the husband, laundry, cleaning oh a walk....did I go outside today?  Every day, every hour and every minute I ignore my grief.  I wall it up with some grout and brick.  Every day I make a new wall.  The space gets smaller and smaller.  I'm so tired from building walls.  It gets harder to breathe in this small space.  It gets harder to hide from my thoughts pouring out of my broken heart.  Oh GOD! My daddy, my dear daddy is gone.  Tears escape from my eyes.  I wipe them up and look somewhere else for a distraction, but the walls are so close there is no where to look.  I leave the inside of my head and search for a distraction admits reality.  Ah my baby girl, what a smile, Grandpa would have loved to make you smile. Damn!   Quick my husband is coming in, I don't want him to see me cry.  There is nothing he can do about it anyway.  It's not like he can take away the pain of losing my father.  Damn! Why did I have to think it!  I'm a mess and I don't feel like it will get better.  I will just be the master of holding it back.  What scares me is that I don't know when I will lose it.  I can feel when I start to get tired of building my walls.  A day or two after I realize that, thats when I lose it.  The only thing that can save me is an ugly cry.  Fists balled up, face in my pillow gripping the sides and a silent wail escaping my open mouth.  Then the walls crumble, I clean up and prepare my grout and brick for when I will be building my walls again.  My aunt told me that it is not something a person ever gets over.  She lost her daddy 20 years ago.  She was crying on the phone with me as she was trying to comfort me.  I don't want to deal with this for the next 20 years.  The only way I could stop dealing with this would be to erase the memory of his death, but then I'd be looking for him.  Would this be frustrating or a false hope?  Now it is just to definite, no wiggle room.  He's dead, gone, I will not be seeing him again.  Or if I erase the memory of him altogether......I never want to do that but  for he sake of arguing, I would have to erase all those  lives that interconnected with his, including my husband's and my daughter's.  No, I have to deal with this pain.  This pain is the deepest, most devastating pain I have ever known.  How is it possible to feel so empty with longing yet so full of love for the one you've lost.  I must have been so very loved by him if it hurts this much.  I must have loved him so much more than I ever thought possible, for it to hurt this much.  I never want to feel this pain again.  That is a selfish sentiment. Because if I never feel this pain again, then my loved ones would have lost me first, and I would never wish this pain on them.  Moments like this is when I realize just how strong I really am.  For me to decide to shoulder the pain of losing others instead of them losing me, helps me understand that I CAN survive the death of my father.  He would want me to stop crying for him, thinking that he doesn't deserve all these tears.  But he does deserve every last tear that will fall from my eyes.  I just want him to hug me and to tell me to get over it.  I just want my daddy.

Thursday, 10 July 2014

The Cemetery

This cool July morning, after breakfast, I fastened my baby into her carriage and went for a walk. Destination: the cemetery.  I find the cemetery both quenches my curious nature and helps me get some quiet time.  I didn't always like cemeteries.  I remember feeling so very uncomfortable.  A fear that the ghosts, or zombies or whatever, the dead would rise and.....well I didn't really think of what they would do, for all I know they might have invited me to a tea party....haha....  I think now what I might have been feeling is the weight of the sadness, not understanding exactly what death and the cemetery was for.  I used to walk in the middle of the rows of the tombs to go visit Grandpa with my mom and I would have to walk where I estimated the coffin would end. The first time I was comfortable in the cemetery was one summer a long while ago, my best friend and I walked over 5 km visiting my old neighbourhood.  We walked through the cemetery and I had her visit my grandfather's tomb.  We sat on the ground in front of it and shared a sandwich. It felt like he was there while I spoke of him and of the memories I had with him.  Since then I love cemeteries.  Today, I walk through the cemetery looking for the oldest date I can find.  Today was 1900. A family of four, last name Martin, all died within months of each other. So sad, the two children died first, then the father and finally the mother, but so curious.  In large cemeteries like Mount Royal, you can see 10 to 20 tombs with the same dates and you can get a picture of the time and what happened. Well when I got home I called the church to inquire if they had information. Unfortunately they do not keep records on the reason of death.....bummer, so I jumped on the internet and figured that around that time there was a smallpox epidemic in Montreal..... I think that was it.  Curiosity, satisfied, I strolled some more and found a second part to the cemetery, that I didn't know existed, and sat down under the trees next to the little river, stream...small water way and lay the baby on a blanket and watched her watch the leaves in the trees.  So nice. Then I had a thought.  I thought that maybe I went to the cemetery to find my dad.  My mom has his urn in their office...her office, and though mom likes to force moments (why don't you touch the urn) it just isn't dad.  I feel like I've been neglected a mourning place. A place where I could lean against the tomb stone and just talk.  Even though I know he would not be there, it would be somewhere to go to, to leave flowers or tears.  I didn't feel closer to him there....I felt like I was honouring those who didn't get any visitors, and myself.  I gave myself time to relax, to try to empty my mind (I'm going to need practice) and to enjoy my baby away from the house.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

Dreaming of you

I took a nap this morning with my baby girl.  I was tired so sleep came easy.  I fought to keep looking at my sweet angel soothing herself to sleep, snuggled in my arms.  I let sleep win.  I dreamt that I was dreaming and in my dream I was hugging you.  In my dream, I remembered verbally how your body would feel in my embrace.  Not at all like the body we said goodbye to in the hospital.  I think I was remembering how you felt while my dream's dream was acting it out.  While I was sleeping, this dream put a smile on my face, and warmth in my heart.  I woke up with energy and went about my day.  But my mind would not put it to rest.  'I dreamt that I dreamt that I was hugging my dad.' were the words my mind would not stop repeating.  At first, it would repeat it with a joyful lilt, but as it wore me down, it now repeats it as though it were wailing.  It just hurts so damn much.  I sometimes wish that we had a fight, so that I can apologize to him and have him back.  But then I am proud that I have never fought with my dad.  I wish he abandoned us, so that I can go look for him, but that would taint his honour.  I wish he decided he would travel the world, at least this way I can wait next to the mailbox for a post card.  Instead he is gone-gone.  I am not ready for the bullshit that people like to say 'he's watching over you.'  How is that a comfort when I want him here?  How is that a comfort when I want to call him.  How is that a comfort when I have his car in my driveway and I just know that the day we sell it or send it to the scrapyard, it will kill me again.