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Dear Daddy…

Most everyone knows now my dad passed away Friday. He was 74 years old… and if he had taken care of himself we should have had a few more years with him. I started to fear my dads death about 20 years ago when he told me he wouldn’t live to see 60. Every time he went into the hospital I was afraid it would be his last time. I’m actually still in that funny denial stage that he is gone.  Which brings me tot he point of this post…

My dad entered hospice the week  he died, I mean.. he was there a day and a half before he passed on. These people are like saints on earth as far as I am concerned, they took away a big burden I had, and that burden was letting him go. I was so terrified he would be alone when he went, even worse he would die at home and my mother and sister ( my mother has dementia, my sister is mentally challenged) would find him that it was hard for me to be at peace about him passing. Admitting him into hospice made it easier for him to realize it was okay to go… or at least I hope it did.  In the end my father was alone in his room when he finally passed on, and I realize now that’s what he would have wanted… to not see us in pain waiting with him, watching that last breath.

The hospice sent me a note today, and a booklet about dealing with grief, as I read it this afternoon it became very clear how much these words hit home, and that I was meant to read them but as I read on a nagging feeling hit that these few pages should say more. So if you don’t mind, I am gonna take a few minutes to add-on to the advice this book gave me.

The first line that hit me funny… beware of developing unrealistic expectations of yourself. Don’t let others put them on you either…. okay wow…. guilty as charged. I am horrible about accepting help with anything, maybe it’s because of how many times I have been burned by those who want to “help”.  I have heard the phrase ” you aren’t alone” way too many times this last week. At times it makes me wanna lash out violently at the person delivering the statement. Especially when I know they have no clue whats going on in my head and heart right now.  I get it… they want to help. But that phrase, you aren’t alone in this, when what you feel is alone because the one person you want is gone, doesn’t help.

That brings me to phrase two… “if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”  I have come up with a new answer to this one.. stop asking me what you can do to help, and if you sincerely want to help, pick something and do it. Helping to me means doing it before I even realize it has to be done, because when I realize it has to be done, it’s too late, I’ve done it. I don’t like sounding so snippy with this piece of advice. But on my good days decisions aren’t easy for me, so asking me to decide when I am in emotional shock isn’t going to be any easier. If you know anyone else like this you might try sending a gift card for a grocery store, or pizza place.  I appreciate every offer made to me, but honestly, I have no idea how to answer the question… what do you need help with. One of the biggest helps I have had this last week was an acquaintance who had lost her father, when I told her what I was feeling, she simply did what I was needing right then… confirmed I wasnt going crazy.

Another big one for me…I’m gonna cry and I am gonna lash out, and I’ve been told this is okay.

The councilor at my daughters school was very close to meeting her untimely end on Tuesday when she said a few things that enraged me. In normal times I would swallow it and blow later, but this time I physically showed signs of wanting to jump the desk and get her !  So that being said, let me apologize in advance to any of you I snap at in the next few weeks.

The final thing I wanted to add to this tonight… the book says when people ask how you feel, don’t tell them you are fine.  I laughed at this, thinking I’m fine… fine like Sally Fields character from Steel Magnolias when she lost her daughter…

Okay, Im not fine. I lost my daddy. I don’t care what age you are, how close you were in life, or what the circumstances of the passing is… it hurts… worse than anything I have EVER experienced. I know he was sick, and I know he is at peace now, but I want him here; because regardless of how stressful he made my life, he was my daddy… and I miss my daddy.

Revisit

A while ago.. a long while… ago I wrote a story about singing again.I haven’t sung since my girls father died. I find no joy in it any longer.  I went on that emotional journey of finding my voice again. Trying to inspire myself… and I still don’t sing. Life sort of affects you that way sometimes; one minute you are sailing along beautifully thinking what could be more perfect and then boom… the wind gets knocked out of those sails and you are stuck in the ocean. 

Lately I cant write. It isn’t in me, the words don’t come even when the ideas do. I sit and stare at a blank page and bring myself to tears over it. The wind has yet again been knocked out of my sails. This time though… its more than just loss that has me by the throat.  To tell you the truth I’m not really sure what it is.. I just know I cant right now.  I feel lost in this world of pages and ideas that used to inspire me. Now they just make me angry, then I look at things around me and that makes me more angry.  I used to understand life, I used to be able to breath and step back from situations and see what was going on life made me a better writer… now it feels like its killing my dreams (a little Les Miserables yes I know)  Not really sure what the point of this is except maybe to wake myself up to the idea I need to change something… fast, before it is too far gone.  

The odd puzzle piece ( My struggle with the school I graduated from)

Ive been thinking about this topic for a very long time now… actually if you want to be technical. 20 years this subject has been running in the back of my head.  Let me start this post by saying. I am not insulting anyone, I am not blaming anyone in particular,  I am writing this to attempt to ease my mind !

Ive never fit in… ever. When I was small I was always grouped with my sister. Through almost no fault of her own she wasn’t someone people wanted to be around. She has been sick since we we were kids and honestly, she isn’t easy to be around.   So this kind of labeled me as one of the odd balls.  The label followed me through life.

In high school I wasn’t pretty, I wasn’t smart, I wasn’t popular. I was pretty much a nobody.  I fought everyday to stay where I was and not run away from the torment I felt at the school I attended. Yes I had friends, and I loved them and love them dearly, but honestly… I was never accepted. I felt ignored. I validate this to myself by saying… not one person I went to high school with knew I was being beaten and abused by my high school boyfriend.  ( To my friends that didn’t know… I was really good at covering bruises and hiding scars. I was also way too afraid to talk to anyone about it. So please don’t think I am upset at any of you for not seeing it… a lot of that was me.) It pushed me to really hate the idea of things like reunions….

So here goes. Last weekend was supposed to be my twenty year high school reunion. Twenty years of being out of a place that I felt smaller than small. Where I didnt feel wanted or accepted. Where I was told by teachers that what I thought was talent was me only fooling myself. A place that was at least in my head responsible for part of my self esteem problems. Two years ago I wouldn’t have even thought about wanting to go; then life got oddly complicated. In a rather uncomfortable circumstance my daughters will be attending the same school district this year.  I have pushed myself in the last few weeks to try to not be anxious about this… but I literally had a panic attack when we took my daughter into the junior high to tour it ( the same building I went to high school in.)  I could remember everything that happened to me there, and it brought up a lot of old wounds. So I had decided I wanted to try to go to my reunion. I wanted some way to put into my mind that this place…. wasn’t so bad.  As life would have it I couldn’t afford to attend the reunion.  We are now a week away from school starting, and I am desperately trying to fix my thoughts about this school… if only for my girls sake. Its hard. I’m begging them to bear with me as I try to work through this.  A lot of people tell me it isn’t the same school anymore…. I need more proof than that, I need to feel it. Just not sure how to achieve that goal.

 

In case anyone is wondering… I have accepted my oddness. I realize it makes me who I am. My self esteem still REALLY sucks, still working on that.  So here is hoping I am proved wrong this time…. here is really hoping !

 

In memoriam.

Three years ago today I lost someone… someone who I didn’t realize I would miss so badly till he was gone. He and I had been apart, yet through our girls… attached for many years. But in that horrible moment when they told me he was gone it threw our world off course, and it has never been the same. What is worse is that I discovered the depths of a pain I never understood before. I watched my beautiful girls hurt so badly, and even though I wanted to desperately fix it, I couldn’t. I watched and stood by as people attempted to, but had no understanding for the grief they felt, for the pain they experienced. I feel deeper into my own pain as people didn’t seem to understand what I was feeling. I had hoped by this point that pain would have dulled.. but I still sit here three years later, hurting.  As the minutes tick away today I will remember what I was doing three years ago. I will push away as much of the pain as I can, breath deeply, and hope I can make it through this. I will hold my daughters if they need it. I will follow their lead in what whatever we need to do to make it through this day, and tomorrow I will get up and begin year four; hoping that when I make it to this time next year, there might be fewer tears that spill from my eyes.

Robert… you are deeply missed by everyone’s lives you touched. I pray every day I am doing what you would want for our girls.  The days like today that I remember the dream I had a week after you died… sitting on a backyard swing with you, watching our girls play, knowing when you got up you had to leave. Your words still ringing in my ears. “I love you mama… you are doing a good job… keep going.”

In your memory today I do as you ask… and keep going.

So I have been busy.

Really damn busy… I’m trying my hardest to make a name for myself in my profession. Bare with me people!   Writing is a process… takes a lot of work. 

Help your favorite author

I’ve already shared this via facebook and via twitter, and I realise the blog will cause it to share to both places again and I apologize…

In fact you know what? No I don’t. It is important to do the things listed in this post/image because it shows support for people who write the books you read and it helps to spread word of their work to other people who haven’t read it or don’t know of that particular author.
support

Originaly shared from facebook

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Merry Christmas

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