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.    

Spiralling

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.........