Now is Good

Last post I think I mentioned that I watched a Dakota Fanning movie called Now is Good.  A story of a  teen diagnosed with Leukemia who dies in the end.  Touching movie.  In other previous posts I have mentioned how shitty the idea of my father is watching over us makes me feel.  I felt that it was unjust for him to just be hovering and not being able to interact with us. Also as frustrating for us to feel him around and not knowing if he is stuck watching us or if he enjoys it.  I digress....read my past posts.  My point is that in the movie, Dakota's friend is pregnant and she is hopeful that she will meet the baby.  It is an unrealistic thought since she has weeks to live by then and the pregnant woman is at the beginning of her pregnancy.  Once she died, Dakota was able to meet the baby in a "dream".  Dream would be the only way I could explain it because the mother of the baby was there and Dakota was able to pick up the baby and interact with both people.  This sits better in my heart.  Maybe the times that we dream about someone who has passed is the only way that that person could interact with us.  Perhaps when we sleep and we do not remember our dreams is because our consciousness has left (the building) and is playing with our dear ones on another plane.  This makes me smile and hurt less.

Thats all I've got for today.

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.

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.

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.    

Split mind, split dreams

I noticed that the older I get I refer to my consciousness as two separate people.  The person in the front is acting on events going on in real time, meanwhile the person in my head is a spectator sitting on the couch with her popcorn or gnawing her nails raw while I maneuver through a harrowing experience or she'll be my cheerleader hi-fiving me when I do something unexpected like stand up to someone and sometimes she'll stare at me with her mouth agape shaking her head....sometimes even laughing (I can never tell if she's laughing at me or with me).  I can't remember when it started, but I often like to take a step back from the environment that I am in and "take it all in".  I do not physically remove myself.  I am not eavesdropping or snooping.  What I do, when the conversation slides away from me, I just look around at the way people are interacting with each other.  Sometimes I am curious as to how I fit in to this picture and I can even take a step back while I am having a conversation.  This is particularly difficult since my mind can take over.......kind of like in the movie The Host, where my mind is having a conversation with myself about the relationship I hold with the person I'm conversing with.  Before all of this, I would be hiding in my head trying to come up with the next intelligent question so that I can keep the conversation going.  I was never really good at it, I realized, because I was not listening. If I were listening I could have let the words guide me.    The only time that I cannot feel that second person is when instinct guides me. Perhaps it is her in the background taking the reins since I consciously don't know what to do but she my subconscious does.  It's like with my daughter.  I just know what to do.  I have a well of patience that I did not know I had.  If you told me I would willingly change diapers all day, I'd say you're crazy, but you know what, I have a hard time passing up a diaper change because I want it done right and right now.  So I mind as well do it myself. Ha ha. 

The point of this post was to talk about my double dream life as I call it.  Everyday I think about how I would just love to wake up, out of this bad dream where my daddy had died.   I want to wake up and see his truck park on the street at lunchtime so that we can have an hour together.  I want to visit my parents and not just my mom.   I want to plan a future with my dad.  But if I wake up from this bad dream does it mean that in my wakefulness I will lose the good dream also?  The good dream of having a baby.  Being a mom and my husband is a father.  The good dream that is taking her nap with a smile while she cuddles her elephant.  If I had to choose, I would choose her and I know that my father would understand.  When I play with her and make her smile and coo, I try to look at her like my father would have looked at me and I understand the love he had for me and I am grateful.

I was watching the movie Beautiful Creatures last night and there's a scene towards the end where they are in church and the pastor is telling his story.  It was about sacrifice.  

"Reverend Stephens: I don't want to preach today, instead I just wanna talk to you, about a word we don't hear much anymore. Sacrifice. It's not what I would call a modern word. People hear the word sacrifice, and they become afraid that something will be taken away from them or that they will have to give up something they couldn't live without. Sacrifice, to them, means loss in a world telling us we could have it all. But I believe true sacrifice is a victory. That's because it requires free will to give up something for someone you love, or something or someone you love more than yourself. I won't lie to you. It's a gamble. Sacrifice wont take away pain and loss, but it wins the battle against bitterness, the bitterness that dims the light on all of the true value in our lives.”

My father had a hard time dealing with the fact that he was dying.  He spent days wondering why him, what did he do to deserve it etc etc.  My mother said, one day, "who would you give it to, if not you then who?" and she proceeded to nominate tributes in his stead.  My father accepted that this was his fate and that he would not wish it on his enemy let alone someone he loved.  This is true sacrifice and just shows what a wonderful man he was up until the very end. 

Elvis Presley

Yesterday in my fit of tears I bought an Elvis Presley album on iTunes.   It feels so good to hear his voice, feel his words and cry at the memories.  Saying my dad loved Elvis is an understatement.  He knew all his songs, had a framed poster on the wall and cried when he got the news that Elvis had left this earth.  Elvis' voice reminds me of when my dad would sing his songs.  He would mimic the voice  so well that my untrained ear did not hear the difference, but then again I can sing like Whitney Huston......when he would sing, he would mostly have mom in his arms and would sing to her soul.  He looked straight into her eyes, held her close and just spent that moment with her.  I made it through a few songs.  I listened to the Wonder of You, the song he chose to dance with me on my wedding day.  I had never listened to the words..... 

"When no-one else can understand me

When everything I do is wrong

You give me hope and consolation

You give me strength to carry on

And you're always there to lend a hand

In everything I do

That's the wonder

The wonder of you

And when you smile the world is brighter

You touch my hand and I'm a king

Your kiss to me is worth a fortune

Your love for me is everything

I'll guess I'll never know the reason why

You love me as you do

That's the wonder

The wonder of you"

Now that I am a parent, I can understand what these words mean.  They mean the same for my husband, but towards a child it is natural.  This unconditional love, the immediate falling over heals for your child is so beautiful.  I expected to feel overjoyed when I saw her for the first time, but honestly, I was so tired I couldn't even process what I was feeling.  It was a buzz in my brain, but I was in complete awe that we made her and I carried her and she's here! But what I did notice was despite the fatigue, my husband and I did everything we could to make her comfortable.  She hardly cried at the hospital.  We took care of her.  That is unconditional love.  Getting up after a few hours sleep, feeding her through cracked bleeding nipples, changing gross, stinky diapers that not always contain the grossness, and changing the clothes that were attained by the grossness.  Unconditional love is ferocious, terrifying, and amazing.  But unconditional love hurts when the source is gone.  I know I love my father.  I know I would protect him should the time arise.  I never understood what unconditional love was.  I love my husband.  But I fell in love with him.  I learned to love him unconditionally.  But your parents, you just loved them at first sight.  My daughter loves me and I feel it when she looks to my soul when she's having her bottle and I am the only one in the universe. I feel it when she smiles at a silly face I made.  I feel it when she laughs at her father's faces.  I feel it when I miss my daddy.  I have never wanted to cry in his arms as much as I do now.  

Sometimes I wish I had something to blame it on like bad nutrition or smoking.  That way I can say "if only he quit smoking, or he listened to his doctor".  I don't even have the luxury of putting the blame elsewhere, because there is no blame to be thrown.  He had a brain tumour.  Simple.  It spread. Simple.  We have to give thanks for the little blessings (but don't say this to me because it will piss me off).  I had the chance to say goodbye, several times.  I had the chance to say I love you, for all the times I didn't.  I don't regret anything except for the times I said I would do something with him and never planned it.  But it is in the past, and I will not hold on to that.  I will be grateful for the time we did have, and we did have a great time.  I will be  happy that I got to cry in his arms.  I will be happy that I was there when he passed away.  I needed to be there when he passed away.  I don't know if I needed the proof, but I wish I could erase the last picture I have of him.  The picture of the shell that held his soul for 59 short years. I'm happy I was there for my mom.  But I am so very very sad. 

The funeral

Dads funeral service was two days ago.  It is done.  All the stress of having the paperwork figured out finding a venue, picking the right photos for the keepsake bookmark, the photo albums, the board that displayed his life through pictures is all done. Packing the car and setting up the display was fun. Felt like a school fair.  Small talk involved the weather, it was friggin hot!!  Family drove in from out of town and gathered at the restaurant my parents were patrons of.  It was fitting.  The wait staff new him, and kept giving us hugs and words of encouragement and letting us know that there were there for us.  Probably in the sense of what they can do for us in terms of food, chairs, etc. but I got the impression that they meant much more.  When you have a service without using the funeral chain you get to pick the mood and atmosphere.  I found myself racing to the front of the restaurant to greet my family that I haven't seen in a while and couldn't wait to show them their three month old niece. When I got to them to receive and give our hugs of hello, I was assaulted with their red rimmed watery eyes, the tilt of their head and instead of  a hug, hands on my shoulders holding me in place lest I run away when they ask me so softly 'How you doing hon''.  I tell them I'm fine.  But I am not fine. Everyone is sad, and I am bouncing around like my 9 year old niece who is just happy to be hugging my mid section for the umpteenth time.  The family then go to my brother and mother then fold into each other.  I stare dumbly wondering what is wrong with me.  But I don't notice that my eyesight skims over dads pictures and urn.   I make sure my daughter is alright, showing her off to the family members that haven't seen her.  She is my pride and joy.  She is a good baby and I was told countless times.  Then I saw her.  My beautiful younger cousin.  I hugged her and started to cry.  She rocked me and sushed me like a child.  I broke from her hug and hugged her hello.  I was starting to crack.  When people asked me how I was doing, the answer was now, 'it depends on the moment'.  Off again to take care of my daughter.  Funny how everyone wants to hold her but no one wants to change a diaper.  So I break the spell of the funeral by going through the restaurant with a diaper bag, my baby in my sister in law's arms, my niece, nephew and husband.  Why so many people, well the boys had to go to the washroom, my niece follows her little cousin almost as closely as she follows me and my sister in law was starting to take over baby duties so I can have my time to grieve with my family.  Thank you so much for my sisters-in-law.  For a few hours, they took care of her as if she were their own, diapers and all.  Going back into the private room we had for the service, the room was heavy with grief.  Clouds of sadness were accumulating above our heads as if each person brought their own cloud, and the more people crammed into the room, the clouds bumped into each other and threatened to break.  Some would and there would be mini showers in different areas of the room.  Now time for the eulogies.  My uncle spoke about dad as a brother would of his younger brother.  He gave the floor to a family friend, his sister, moms sister who had a hard time reading and made us cry, moms brother and finally my uncle read a poem.  This poem made me sob.  The words were something dad would say if he were a man of words.  Then my husband read the poem my uncle wrote, but in a french translation.  In 13 years I have never seen him cry.  As he was reading, his voice caught, he took a deep breath as his lips quivered.  I can see he is sad but he does not know what to do with this emotion, he didn't expect it to be so strong.  I am sobbing, a comforting hand rubs my back and I am sobbing.  My husband returns to the seat next to us and we sob in eachothre's arms.   We made a line at the back of the restaurant, mom, my brother, and I.  Sometime my sister in law was there and I'm not sure where my husband was but I know he was watching me.  I sobbed in my cousins' arms, uncles, aunts.  Then I was done, and hungry.  The confusion of before the eulogy was gone.  It was time to eat and laugh and catch up.  My dad would have approved.

I don't want to believe he's gone.  But I prepared his funeral, I prepared the keepsakes, I sat with him while he took his last breaths, I saw the shell of the man I knew when I left the hospital room.  I know he's gone.  But how do I live with a piece missing.  I did not know that my parents' love and presence held a physical piece inside of me.  I like there is a hole and it will take time to close up, but it will never completely close up.  Right now it feels like every time I breathe I loose breath to that hole, and when I realize that I need that breath, well.....it is gone, like my father.