Bad Feelings

Today is my daughter's birthday. I was having a really good, happy day, wrapping presents, chatting with Jes, eating birthday cake. I went outside to smoke, and my angry feelings just popped into my head. I told myself to just ignore them, and continue to have a happy day. But, I decided to write about it instead. That is, after all, why I started blogging in the first place.

In this month alone, my sister had a birthday, my niece and I shared a birthday, Father's Day has passed, and today is the fourth day of birth for one of my family members. Or should I say one of Daddy's family members, close family members.

Not a single one of us has heard a peep from either Daddy's wife, or his sister. Now, I'm thinking to myself, "you are fucking pissed at them anyway, what do you expect?". I guess I expect them to be adults and at least try to have a relationship with us. Some explanation of what they are/were thinking would be ideal. At what point did Stacy decide that all she could hear the doctors say was that Larry was dying? You know that is a decision you make either consciously or unconsciously. What made her think that is what the doctors were saying? I don't care if it was fear or what, at least talk to us about it! Shit, I can't even think what to say now. I'm so fucking pissed off at her.

Okay. I will try again. I am going to pretend I am talking to Stacy. What was happening to you? Why was the only thing you were able to hear was "Larry is dying"? Why, Stacy? Was it fear? Did your fear over-ride the ability to, at the very least, be a decent human being, much less a loving wife? Are you that weak and frankly, stupid, that all you can think about is yourself? When your husband, "the love of your life", is battling cancer. Did you not give one little shit about him? Oh my god, you are such a waste of oxygen. Since you will not talk to me, and at least attempt to explain your side, all I can do is assume I am right. You are a very weak, selfish, stupid human being. I can't even believe Daddy married you. At what point did he realize how shallow you are? Was it too late by then?

And another thing, Stacy, the Jesus lover. Why, if "God" needs another angel, did he have to "take" Daddy? Why couldn't he leave him here with us and take your sorry ass instead? You will really help the atheist's beliefs in no God. You are such a fucking hypocrite, you make the whole religious community look bad. God, my ass. IF there is a god, and we do all go to "heaven", I'm pretty damn sure I will be seeing you in hell. Stupid and ignorant is no excuse.


Ok, I got that off my chest. Those were some really harsh words. I am going to publish this. It may make me  look equally stupid and ignorant, but, I wrote what I was feeling. If I don't get to say it, I will never be able to let those feelings go. So, here it goes. Out to the internet, never to be taken back. Unlike "someone else I know", I don't have much fear left. I still have a lot to lose, a lot of people I could lose, but I lost two very important people and have managed to live through it.

Thank you for listening.

Checking In

I haven't written in a while. I'm still enjoying living in the moment. Understatement, but, "doing grief work" is not pleasant. I would much rather spend my day simply living. However, I want to complete the process, and not get stuck, so I must keep working on it.

Daddy's request was for his ashes to be spread on Mt. Ida, Colorado. You have already seen what has been done with his ashes thus far. We still have some, and are very comforted by that. We are not ready to let him go. There is no reason for us to do that, until we are absolutely ready. No reason at all. Also, as you have already seen, we are not the only ones with some ashes. As per the wishes of Daddy's parents, some of them are buried in Alabama.

A few days ago, I got an email from Daddy's best friend, of over thirty years, that he had received some ashes in the mail. Twenty years ago, Daddy asked Larry to spread his ashes at the summit of Mt. Ida. They went camping, hiking, and photographing together there often. Larry sent an email to let  us know he had received some ashes and he would do his very best to spread them honorably. I am very sure he will do just that.

I have so many questions about how this transpired. Did Stacy initiate it? Did Larry initiate it? Why is Larry doing this alone? Did Stacy keep some of the ashes, or has she washed her hands of the whole thing? Is this something Larry wants to do, or feels obligated to do? How hard is it going to be to get it done? Many, many questions. Can I ask these questions of Larry? Or do I sit back and simply observe? Daddy was more than just a father. This is not only "our" loss. Stacy lost her husband, Linda and Doug lost their brother, and Larry lost his best friend. I feel like they also deserve to honor him in their own way, just as we deserve to. So, I guess I will just sit back and let Larry handle this part as he sees fit. I will not ask my questions, unless he invites me to.

It is so very hard picturing the moment when Larry lets the ashes go. But, Daddy died. There is no bringing him back. As much as we wish we could add water to the ashes, and bring him back, we can't. If only.

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten that I lost John as well. I still have everything of John's. Including all of his ashes. I have his guitars, wallet, glasses, clothes, all of the stuff from his truck, his tools, his passport, everything. His cell phone is still connected, although the battery is dead. I haven't even turned his phone on yet. I'm not disconnecting it until I am able to listen to his voice again, over and over and over and over..... I have to get  used to my "new normal" first.

I have two wishes. First, that both of them were still alive. Second, that I did not have to mourn both of them at the same time.

Connected-ness

Daddy liked to read self-help books, and when he found one he particularly liked, he would share a copy with everyone he felt was open to it. He shared one with us that was about a person's "traits." His first "trait" was called connectivity. One of the examples he gave us to explain that was when he saw a person throw trash out of their car window. It angered him thinking about how that person did not even think about the person that had to pick up that trash, or the other people that had to look at it. In his professional life, he was always thinking about ways to connect businesses to other businesses. At the school district where he worked, he was in the transportation department, but he set up a program that allowed churches to rent unused school buildings - connected-ness.

I was thinking about my earlier post about peeking ahead and behind, which led me to think about Daddy, which lead me to think about his involvement in One Less Victim. (For those of you who don't know, Daddy, Jes, and I started a non-profit company to help with prevention of sexual and/or domestic abuse, called One Less Victim.) Connected-ness. So, by looking behind at Daddy, I am able to look forward at One Less Victim. This doesn't sound like the same type of connected-ness that Daddy used, but it rings a bell to me. Because John died, I have more free time. I have been able to use some of that free time to work on OLV more. John and Daddy are connected.

This is also connected to another thought I had about looking behind and ahead. By looking at the past, I can look at the future, or the other way around. When I look at my future, John and Daddy are going to have something to do with it. John, because he is gone from my life, and Daddy because he helped me start OLV. Connected-ness.

When I think about the future, I think about the post in which I asked how am I supposed to look at the future, that it was scary looking there. The best advice I got, was that I need to have a future and experience things because John and Daddy no longer get to. That thought takes away some of the guilt and gives a reason. Which leads me to think about the post I did about balance. I do feel more steady now. I am able to drop one of the negative juggling balls and get better balance.

I also think about the post about the popcorn. How thoughts just seem to pop, pop, pop. Well, they still do, but they are staying around long enough for me to at least get them written down.

Which leads me to think about why I started this blog in the first place. Which was to work my through grief.  I think this blog has really helped me. I can see that I am a lot better than I was, emotionally. I have moved past anger, I have moved past obstacles (mowing the f...ing grass), and I am able to look at and talk about John and Daddy with less pain.

So, the future and the past are connected, and my blog posts are connected. Connected-ness.

Father's Day

Ok, I will try to do this. Happy Father's Day Daddy. I would normally be calling you on the phone to tell you this. To see how your day was going, and what you would be doing today. Since it is Sunday, I would imagine you would be going to church, maybe out to lunch with friends, then running errands to get ready for the coming week. I am positive you will be going for a walk by the water today. You will also take some time to sit outside and watch the birds and fish. "Wa wa fish are jumping." You will definitely get your daily dose of sun, and eat some good food. If I could, I would make sure you had some cookies.

As sad as I am for us, and for you, this is what is supposed to happen. You died first, before any of your children. You were able to live a full and complete life. I wish it would have been much much longer, but 73 years isn't to shabby.

Betsy, Zak, and I went for a walk last night on a beautiful trail. You were definitely with us every step. All of us talk about you a lot. When we are doing something we know you would like, we say "Daddy would love this." Or we say "I remember being here/doing this with Daddy." You are still living with us Daddy. All of your girls, except Pat (but we are taking care of that), have something meaningful of yours that we have on a chain to wear around our necks, and close to our hearts. We have pictures of you around the house. Zak still has that ugly pig statue thing that use to give me nightmares. When something good happens, or good luck is on our side, you get the credit. You, and John, get the credit for "watching out for us".  You gave Betsy a gift yesterday. You are still with us.

We have some of your ashes. We are thinking about what to do with them. We are going to the 4th of July fireworks on Town Lake this year, and we will take some of the ashes with us. We have little jewelry bags and a little scoop in your box. We are thinking we will spread little bits in your favorite places. We can't bear to let any of them go yet, but one day we will be able to. Or not. We may keep them forever.

Anyway, Daddy, I love you. We all love you and we are so glad you were our Dad.

P.S.
And, once again Father's Day is on my birthday this year. Today is also Maia's birthday. Remember how I used to hate when Father's Day was on my birthday? Maia feels the same way.  So, Happy Father's Day to you, and Happy Birthday to Maia and me.

Feeling Guilty

I feel stronger, more hopeful, less sad. I have been living the last few days "in the moment", not looking ahead, or behind. It is scary looking ahead, and sad looking behind. But I will admit, it is not as scary or as sad as it was even a week ago. Here is where the guilt comes in. Have I paid enough homage? Have I cried enough? Is my grief going too quickly? Am I not doing it right? I don't have the answers for those questions.

Neither John nor Daddy would want me to be sad. I know this. When they died, there were two giant holes in my life. I think the scab is beginning to form over those holes. I have to be careful, too. I don't want to go back to the "dark place". But, I know I will have to revisit that place sometime. If only to find out the holes are not as deep as they were.

I need some help here. How do you get over feeling guilty that you are still alive? How do you get over feeling guilty that you have a future? It is so weird that in my belief, when you die, that's it. John and Daddy are done with this human experience. They cannot communicate with us. They are not waiting in heaven. I will never see them again. Why do I keep thinking they would be disappointed in me? That I haven't grieved enough? At the same time, knowing they are gone, they can't be disappointed.

For now, I'm going to try to stick my head back in the sand, try to continue to live in the moment. But, I will not forget. I will not forget them, I will not forget that I lost them. I will move forward, for now. But I will not be afraid to look behind either.

-----

I just did a "preview" of the posting and realized I am afraid to look behind. And I am afraid to look ahead. I'm going to put my blinders back on for now, and only peek at the future and the past. Little peeks, now and then. For now.

No one has to grieve alone.

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/no-one-has-be-alone/201204/no-one-has-grieve-alone

This article was written by Lani Leary Ph.D., for Psychology Today, on April 24, 2012.

The subtitle - Validation is the key to resolving grief.

Yes! This is part of why I write this blog. I need to talk about it, about everything, about anger, about John, about Daddy, about myself. And I need people to listen.

"The key to resolving your grief is for someone to validate your feelings. To resolve means to settle, to work out, or to find meaning. It does not mean to erase, or to end."

" The great healer of your grief is validation, not time. All grief needs to be blessed. In order to be blessed, it must be heard. Someone must be present, someone who is willing to “hold” it by listening without judgment or comparison." This is part of why grief counseling works. One-on-one and group therapy. They/we are there to listen. Everyone gets a turn to talk, without interruption. They/we listen, and understand. Just listen, and nod your head, like you understand what they are saying. If you don't understand, try.

"The bereaved need:
. To be cared for through a sense of presence, permission, patience, predictability, and perseverance.
. To have their feelings acknowledged and their loved one remembered.
. To have their feelings and needs normalized.
. To be heard.
. To be seen and acknowledged."

I think this is part of what I was/am so angry about. The people that were hurting us (Daddy's wife and sister), didn't care, didn't know what they were doing, wouldn't listen, couldn't hear.  I felt like I had to keep bitching, cussing, being mean, just to get them to acknowledge me or even to acknowledge our loss, our pain. I wrote a lot of blog posts about it, I posted a lot of anger postings on Facebook. I had an argument with a "friend" of Daddy's. She finally said "Larry was my friend". Finally, someone was talking about Daddy. Just Daddy. Not how she was feeling, or what Daddy's wife was going through. (I could care fucking less what she is going through, frankly.) I wrote a nine page story about what happened. Kind of a step four in AA. Another of friend of Daddy's said I could give it to her. She said she would understand. Well, I sent it to her, and I have not heard anything from her since. Nothing. No validation there. I have tried to just stop. My anger will never be resolved. I just have to let it go. My anger will probaby not ever be "settled, worked out, or any meaning found. It will also never be "erased" and will probably never end. I do not see a time when I will ever forgive either one of them. Ever.

"How can we help the bereaved?" Answer - "We can learn what it means to follow the pace of the bereaved; to listen without trying to "fix"; and to give the bereaved our undivided attention without interjecting our own story."
 

"Validation is a standard of care and an action that we can implement. Validation sounds like

• supporting the bereaved's perspective;
• listening "between the lines" for what is and is not said;
• listening for symbolic language and what it means to the person;
• asking open-ended questions;
• clarifying what you have heard; and
• asking to hear their story as many times as they want to tell it.

Validation looks like

• direct eye contact;
• gestures of affirmation such as nodding;
• appropriate gentle touch; and
• a posture of leaning toward, rather than away, from the bereaved."

 I didn't mean to copy almost the whole story. But so much of it says so much to me. This is what grieving people need. Grief will not just go away by itself. We can do it alone, or we can have help. Grief will get done at some point. It has lots of patience, it will wait forever. But, it has to be done. We have to go through it, not over, not under, not around, but through.

I will finish with this quote ..
 "You deserve a hundred opportunities to tell the story of love remembered and a person honored."

Mowing the grass

I had to mow our grass the other day. For the first time this year. Do you know how hard it is to start the lawn mower the first time of the season? Well, it is hard.

John was my mechanical god. He could fix anything. He always started the mower the first time. He knew how to drain the old gas, clean the spark plug, sharpen the blade. We would take turns mowing. He would do part of it, I would do part of it. It was a good work out for both of us. Neither one of us had to sit inside feeling guilty that the other one was out in the heat doing all the work.

When we were finished, we like to sit on the front porch and watch the world go by, and admire how nice our yard looked. We have five really big hydrangea bushes in front. We would baby those things. Prune, mulch, water. We would get maybe three blooms all year and be so proud. Since I have spent the majority of this year running away, the hydrangeas were neglected. In late May, I came home. The hydrangeas are the most beautiful I have seen them. I bet we have two hundred blooms. All colors, pink, blue, purple. Really big "mop head" blooms. Amazing.

Anyway, I now had to face taking care of the yard all by myself. No one to share the work, or the joy and relaxation. Not only is John not here to help, he is not here period. He never will be again. No more of the sharing. All of this is in my head when I think about mowing the fucking grass. Not only do I have to face the future without John, I have to start the fucking mower. (My anger is beginning to show.)

So, I prepare myself mentally. Then physically, making sure it is late enough in the day that I won't die of heat stroke, shaving my legs, finding my lawn mowing shoes, etc. I go out to the garage and there is no gas. Good thing I shaved my legs, cause now I have to go to the fucking store for gas. Another goddamn obstacle in this awful task.

I actually got the stupid mower to start!! I couldn't believe it. I did it, all by myself. Jes came outside and cheered for me. She had no doubts at all. She reminded me later that I took care of the house before I met John, and I could do it again.

I got it all mowed and sat out front trying to cool off. Drank three bottles of water, and talked on the phone. I normally would be sitting there with John. But, the yard still looked good, I had sisters to talk with on the phone, my neighbor Karen and I had a chat.

Life will go on. It just seems much harder now, and with a lot less joy.

Check Yourself

"Check yourself, before you wreck yourself."

Yesterday was a dark day. I was in my dark place. It started out ok, but I had to take care of business. Phone calls, mail, etc. I needed to run a couple of errands, but the thought of going out of the house, seeing people, kept me inside. Everything seems like a chore, an unpleasant chore. My patience is lacking. I used to feel like I had patience, until I met John. He was a very patient man, and compared to him, I had a long way to go. Apparently I have even further to go now.

Life felt so pointless yesterday. You're born, you live, you die. That's it. It happens every day. Some people get to live a good long time, others not so much. Some people suffer, others go like lightning. It seems like we are all just spinning our wheels until our time is up. We create material things, we consume, we dispose of everything somehow. We are basically here to make ourselves more comfortable. Then we die. The end. For everyone that dies, there is another one born, so the cycle goes. It seems pointless.

I haven't written in my private journal since I started this blog. But, I wrote in it last night. I felt the need to check myself, before I wreck myself. It didn't help much and I decided to go ahead and write a blog post today anyway. Publicly share my feelings. I'm not doing this so you can feel sorry for me. It is what it is. I am what I am. This is what it feels like when your world explodes. Before John died, I had visions of the future. I thought I knew what the rest of my life would look like. In an instant, the future, as I knew it, was erased. Start over, clean slate, blank slate. Reboot. Refresh.

I am currently stuck. I'm stuck for things to say. I'm stuck on what to do. The computer in my head is rebooting, and it is running VERY slow.

Tattoos

John has three tats. The first one he got was when he was a young man. It is a blue butterfly just like the one from the movie Papillion. That movie came out in 1973, so he probably got it around then. He hid it from his mom for a while, but she saw it one day and said "I need to get the bug spray. There is a bug on your back." He thought she was secretly proud of him.

He had one on his right upper arm that was a lightning bolt. He didn't have much of a story about that one. Probably the result of partying one night, somewhere in Tennessee or something.

On his left upper arm was the U.S. flag on a pole, and a British flag also on a pole. The poles crossed each other. He got the U.S. one first. He decided to add the British one not long after we got married. He was able to keep in closer contact with his family, and felt closer to his English heritage. I went with him to get that one, and I got one too. Mine is a small vine of flowers on my upper right arm. I also have a purple dove with an olive branch on my left lower arm. Representing Peace and Love.

I am thinking about memorial tattoos. The one I want to represent John will be of teardrops and hearts. I can't decide how I want it, but I definitely want it under the flower one I got with him. The one I want for Daddy will be a sand dollar. The beach was a place we have been going as long as I can remember. Sea shell hunting has been a life long past time. Finding a whole sand dollar was always our goal. I will always remember the good times we had as kids. Daddy made sure of that. The sand dollar will also represent the knowledge that the best things in life are found in nature, and they don't cost a thing. (As a side note, Daddy didn't have any tats. He didn't really approve of them. But, three of his four daughters have at least one.)

Do you have any memorial tats? I would love to see, or hear the stories behind them.

The path of least resistance

Like water flows. It always follows the path of least resistance.

I have so many possible titles for this posting...

Mother Nature is my "God".
Life and Death.
I am like a drop of water.
Journey - A babbling brook or a dry creek bed.
Life is like a raindrop.
Water does not go uphill. Why am I trying to?
(Pop, pop, pop.)

I wish I was a painter. It seems like it would be easier than writing. How do I paint the many pictures in my head? I have to pick one picture and try to paint it for you.

Life is like a raindrop. I'm going with this one for now.

Life and death are ying and yang. You cannot possibly have one without the other. At the beginning, you are a raindrop falling from the sky. You land where you land. You don't have any choice in the matter. You don't pick your parents, your nationality, your siblings. You don't get to decide if you are gay or straight, rich or poor, sick or healthy. You don't get to pick if you land in a smooth spot, or you land in the roughest spot of earth. You don't get to pick to land in a lake, a puddle, or land all by yourself, alone. This is the beginning of your journey.

You, however, must follow some path. Mother Nature says so. Gravity says to follow the path of least resistance. So starts your journey. I hope it is a long, long one. Your journey, your life, your raindrop is going to one day  turn into the condensation that goes back up into the sky. John became a raindrop 63 years ago. Daddy became a raindrop 73 years ago. They were broken down and sucked back up as condensation. Their journey ended. Ying Yang.

My head says ying and yang. My heart says NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I'm not ready!!!!! My raindrop is still here. My raindrop wants John and Daddy to still be in my puddle. Where do I go? What do I do? The grief journey is definitely the dry creek bed. Full of rocks, boulders, very few other raindrops. It seems all uphill. I want to be back in the puddle with John and Daddy!!! (I use exclamation marks to yell it really loud. Yell it at the top of my lungs. !!!!!!!!!!!!) This part of my journey fucking sucks! Where is the path of least resistance?

Balance

I was in gymnastics in my childhood. So I'm going to use the balance beam analogy. Right now, I can stand on the balance beam. I'm still wobbly, but I am not falling off. I'm on two feet. Not one foot, or up of my toes, like you see in the Olympics. Not doing flips, or spins, or even walking on the beam. I'm standing there, afraid to move. If I don't concentrate and focus, I will fall.

I not only have to stand on the beam, I have to juggle several balls at the same time. What? How? I can barely hold the juggling balls and keep my balance. Right now, all the juggling balls are in one hand. The weak hand. All the balls represent the bad, and ugly. All I can do is concentrate and focus. I can't move a muscle, or I will fall. But, I'm standing.

This blog is a picture of my journey through grief. As I go back and look at past postings, I can see the dark place. I remember what it felt like. Today, I seem to be in a little lighter place. Farther along in my journey. I must be healing a little. Healing. A. Little. That is unbelievable. I didn't think it was possible. I want to reach out and touch the light. I want to, but afraid that if I move a muscle, I will fall. I think I will just stand here and try to breath, and not fall off of the balance beam.