Sunday, 19 July 2015

The Hardest Thing

You would ask me : what's that hardest thing you had to do, or go through.   You think  I'd answer something about childbirth or raising children. You'd think I would say something about a relationship that was broken or trying to find myself out of a dark place.  You'd think I would say something about school bullies or work bullies.  If you didn't, well I would think that.  No, the hardest thing I have to go through is remembering that my father has died.  He's dead, gone, not coming back.  I have to admit, going through every day without him is almost as if I never had a father.  Don't get me wrong; I am not disowning him.  Going though everyday without him is normal.  I wouldn't have to interact with him on a daily basis.  He wasn't my neighbour so I didn't see him every day.  I might make a phone call and visit on a biweekly or even monthly routine.  So every day without him is normal. What is not normal is pushing away the onslaught of memories past and memories never to become.  What is not normal is wanting to slam on the breaks on the highway because this onslaught is just too much and I want to curl up in the ditch and hope that the pain flies over my head.  But it won't fly over my head because the pain begins in the pit of my stomach and spreads like an ink well spilled over on a table cloth.  The black pain will fill my core looking like a Rorschach ink blot and spread around my heart until in soaks it through.  It will make my limbs heavy and my eyes fill with tears until I blink.  When I blink, I allow the pain to wash over me and I cry it out.  What is not normal is feeling all of this in a millisecond and putting it on the back burner for another time, because I am driving on the highway and I have people that depend on my to get to my destination in one piece.  Though I do get to my destination in one piece on the outside, my insides are broken.

Sunday, 17 May 2015

I miss my friend

I miss my friend.  I miss her daily.  The nice weather reminds me of drives with the windows down and the music blaring.  This weather reminds me of cigarettes and Red Bull and the promise of booze and cigarettes around the pool.  I quit all those things, including my friend. It squeezes my heart, but I am able to wipe away the ache like I swipe the screen of my phone to move on to something else.  It is easy to wipe away the ache because I can no longer be her friend.

I miss my dad.  I don't think of him daily.  I go blank when I am alone with my thoughts.  I ache to be alone with my thoughts, and now that I am here, my babies are asleep, my husband is out and my mom is in her room, I have nothing to express.  I hide my pain under my new life.  I hide my pain because I have to move on, day by day, running my house and taking care of my family.  I hide my pain because I don't want pity (please don't play the Devil's Advocate, I know the game), I don't want to hear "there, there", I don't want to cry in front of my mom, I don't want to cry in her arms.  I tell myself that I am not sad because I had closure and I said goodbye.

I am very sad.  I am sad that I am not letting myself be sad.  I am having a hard time writing this because I don't want to be sad. I have to feed my newborn soon, I have to wake up refreshed for my oldest child. I don't want to be sad. I don't know how to live sad.  I've been mad, and dark and happy. I've never been sad.

Woe is she who's sadness is hidden;
She doesn't yet know she is drowning.
Her tears held back make her heart heavy,
And when she dives into her pain,
She will have to fight for a breath.

Something like that.


Sunday, 3 May 2015

One year ago today

One year ago today, I was sitting in your hospital room.  I showed you a video of your first granddaughter cooing in her crib while she gazes in awe at the four lions turning slowly to Brahms lullaby above her head.  You were so tired that you could not open your eyes anymore, but I know you heard and imagined her in your head.  One year ago today, I looked at your body, no longer familiar to me as the muscular arms that once threw me up in the air, sent waves of pool water over my head and hugged me close to your heart, were now skinny and long as if the bones lengthened.  One year ago today I listened to your struggled breathing and hoped it would stop, for your sake, for our sake, for my sake, and then I nearly died myself when your breath hitched and I was sure it was the end.  One year ago today, I prayed that you would die when mom and I had fallen asleep.  One year ago today, you entered my dreams as a young man and let me know without saying a word that everything will be alright for us, for mom, for me. 

I am a mess.  Thank gosh I am a mess.  I havent had the time to cry or mourn you.  I havent given myself the time to mourn you.  I didn't allow myself to mourn you.  I tell myself that it is because I have accepted the grand plan.  If you hadn't died, mom would not be living with us, and I would not have had the help I needed at the end of my second pregnancy, and beginning of your second grand baby's life.  If you hadn't died, you would get to see how wonderful my girls are.  If you hadn't died,  if you hadn't, if you, if........

I miss you and I don't.  I fee like I don't know how to miss you.  If I miss someone I call them, or visit.  I miss you and I can't do either, so I just stop thinking about you.  I think of you in the past tense.  The future hasn't come so how can I miss you for then?  My present is full of life, of new beginnings, so how can I miss you now?

And now, I have to try to turn off my pain. Stop it up with responsibility and sleep.  I have two baby girls to take care of tomorrow.  Rock them to sleep tonight so that I may sleep soundly.

Love you