About a month after Daddy died, I was overcome with blinding feeling of anger. It was frightening. I have never in my life felt such anger. I knew it was a signal that I needed to look outside of myself for help. I found a page that dealt with grief and I posted about it. The administrator of the page said that anger is not always a bad thing. Sometimes it stirs you into action. The action I choose to take was grief counseling. I had tried, a couple of weeks before, to actually find some counseling, and was not successful. After getting this blinding sense of anger, I was able to find counseling the next day. Funny, how things work sometimes.
Fast forward, I thought I had this anger under control. I hadn't felt that much anger in a while. And I have been going to weekly grief group counseling for about 4 months. I am better. I feel better. I am no longer afraid, and I thought I was not as angry until yesterday.
I got into a socio-political argument. I'm not sure socio-political is the right word, but it was an argument over welfare, or more specifically who deserves it and who doesn't. This person, I felt, was blaming poor people for being poor. This person is a blue collar worker, living paycheck to paycheck, so she is not that far from poor herself. Now, it makes me angry to see people blame poor people for being poor, in the first place, but to see someone blaming them while never having been there themselves (even though she is close to it) is an anger trigger for me. It took a neutral third party to call a "time out" for the argument to end. The third party was able to put both of our points of view into perspective in a way that neither of us was able too.
But, I cannot stop thinking about it, playing the conversation over and over, in my head. I am trying to get past it, I'm trying to work it out, I'm trying to figure out how to control my anger. And it is fucking hard. I just keep picking at it, picking out how wrong she was. It is distracting me from being able to 1. just forget about it, and 2. figure out what could I have done to help her understand where I was coming from, instead of her coming out of the argument with hurt feelings, (which btw is her problem, not mine, but I wasn't able to show her a different way of looking at the issue.) I feel like I failed, because I really truly believe she was wrong and I was right. I was able to see her point of view, but she wasn't able to see mine. Is this my fault? And I do have to say I am somewhat ashamed that I was arguing with a 22-year-old, and I am in my 50s. On the other hand, does she not have respect for the fact that I am in my 50s, and I may know a little more than she does? See, it is just all a big clusterfuck. And, I cannot let it go. I feel like this anger of mine is over-shadowing my compassion, my common sense, my desire to teach, my desire to share.
I feel like I am forever changed by this anger. I am forever changed by John and Daddy's death. On the one hand, anger is giving me a voice. On the other hand, this voice isn't the best one. I am not using it in a good way. I am not controlling it, it is controlling me. How do I look at anger as a gift? Is anger a gift? Is anger bad? Do I need to forgive people "for my own good"? I don't understand that concept yet.
So, the best answer I can come up with, for now, is - agree to disagree. I will continue this awful, stupid, fucking grief work. I will keep thinking, writing, and talking about it until I get to the point where I am simply grateful I ever got the pleasure of knowing John, and simply grateful that Daddy was my dad, instead of being angry that they are no longer here. Maybe then, I can control this anger. But, maybe I have to learn to control this anger, let this anger go, before I can come to a place of peace and gratefulness.
For now, agree to disagree.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
Daddy and Religion
Most of Daddy's life, he was not religious. From what one of my sisters say, the last phase of growth for humans is spiritual growth. Which makes sense. As our lives get toward the end, I think we begin to ask, was it good? Daddy began to look for something, some meaning. He often told a story about a solo camping trip he went on in New Mexico. He really liked hiking and in this particular area, an Indian reservation, you were required to have a guide, a Native American guide. Daddy's guide was a chief. I don't remember the details of the story so much as I remember seeing how much this gentleman touched Daddy's soul. I believe, to this day, this was Daddy's ultimate religion, nature. Nature was/is the traditional spiritual teachers for Native Americans and that is why this guide had lasting effects on Daddy. Unfortunately, Daddy did not recognize this as religious, or that nature could be a religion.
I regret, to this day, that Daddy thought Christianity was the answer. Because he thought Christianity was the answer, he believed the wife he found was the one he was destined to be with. Was Daddy happy with her? I think on the surface he was. But, I think if he would have really looked at it, she was far from the best person for him to share his remaining days with. We witnessed his mind getting smaller, he was more judgmental than ever. We witnessed him getting mentally older. We witnessed his world getting smaller and smaller. Maybe this is the natural order of things, maybe not. When I am nearing the end of my life, I hope that my mind is becoming more free, not the other way around. I hope that my heart is embracing all people, not just the ones with the same religion. And, I will never, ever, ever tell my daughter that she will only see me again when I accept Jesus. I will never, ever, ever tell her that I am going to one heaven, and unless she accepts Jesus, she will not be able to enter the same heaven, that she will somehow be going to a lesser heaven. This is what the religion Daddy found made him think. This is what he said to us.
Daddy died with only his sister by his side. Even though he had a wife and four daughters, and multitudes of grandchildren, his sister was the only one there. The reason for that is directly related to his wife. This is why I hate her. This is why I am so very angry, I may never get past it.
Anyway, I found this article, and I hope that Daddy has let go of the shore and is floating freely, with joy and happiness in his heart.
http://beforeitsnews.com/alternative/2013/04/a-hopi-elder-speaks-the-moment-has-come-2610530.html
I regret, to this day, that Daddy thought Christianity was the answer. Because he thought Christianity was the answer, he believed the wife he found was the one he was destined to be with. Was Daddy happy with her? I think on the surface he was. But, I think if he would have really looked at it, she was far from the best person for him to share his remaining days with. We witnessed his mind getting smaller, he was more judgmental than ever. We witnessed him getting mentally older. We witnessed his world getting smaller and smaller. Maybe this is the natural order of things, maybe not. When I am nearing the end of my life, I hope that my mind is becoming more free, not the other way around. I hope that my heart is embracing all people, not just the ones with the same religion. And, I will never, ever, ever tell my daughter that she will only see me again when I accept Jesus. I will never, ever, ever tell her that I am going to one heaven, and unless she accepts Jesus, she will not be able to enter the same heaven, that she will somehow be going to a lesser heaven. This is what the religion Daddy found made him think. This is what he said to us.
Daddy died with only his sister by his side. Even though he had a wife and four daughters, and multitudes of grandchildren, his sister was the only one there. The reason for that is directly related to his wife. This is why I hate her. This is why I am so very angry, I may never get past it.
Anyway, I found this article, and I hope that Daddy has let go of the shore and is floating freely, with joy and happiness in his heart.
http://beforeitsnews.com/alternative/2013/04/a-hopi-elder-speaks-the-moment-has-come-2610530.html
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Major Coincidence
Daddy died one year ago today. That was the day I gave up any pretense of believing in the Christian God. No, Daddy is not an angel. No, he is not on a "heavenly hike". He is dead, just as we all will be one day. No, I nor anyone will ever seen him again, except in our memories, our pictures, and our children. There is no one "up there" waiting to greet him. He is not "up there" watching over us. He is dead. He lived a full and complete life, and it came to an end. That's it.
In the years leading up to his sickness (cancer), I was getting a ton of negative examples of religious thinking, or as I began to see, religious justification for discrimination and oppression. I also began to see religion as a crutch some people need, just like some people need instructions, just like some people need a recipe in order to cook. Some people need it, and that is fine. Go for it, if that is what you need. However, I don't need it, I don't believe it, and I don't want to hear about it.
Let me preface my next thoughts with - I loved Daddy very much. He was a GREAT dad. I would give almost anything if he were still alive, and I hate that he is not. I am very thankful that he was MY dad, and I couldn't imagine being the person I am today, if he was not my dad.
Not only was I getting negative example of religious thinking in the political arena, I was getting one from Daddy himself, or more specifically from his marriage and his wife. Daddy was not a social person, he was more of a thinker, an observer. He did, however, value close relationships. He did not want to be alone, he didn't want a bunch of people around, but he wanted close, personal relationships. I don't remember when he told me this story, but it happened about 12 or 13 years ago. (Daddy was not religious for most of his life, at least not most of my life, but somewhere along the way, that changed.) He was living in Colorado, alone, and he didn't want to be alone. He started praying and he said "I felt God hit me upside the head, and said Let me handle it". Well, God handled it alright. Shortly thereafter, Daddy met a very religious woman, and I mean very religious, such as praying while holding hands before every meal, her realtor had to be "Christian", her father was a church musical director, etc, etc, etc... Daddy thought this was the one God meant for him to have, so he married her. Daddy was a smart man, with a Master's Degree in business. He liked to read, and learn. He was on the cutting edge of the computer industry. His wife also had the potential to be smart too, but, she was raised to always give Jesus credit for EVERYTHING. Jesus would ALWAYS provide the answer. No thinking needed, just follow the directions in the bible. Do not question it. And, of course, in the Christian bible, the man/husband had all of the responsibility, or at least all of the thinking and providing responsibility. In the mind of Daddy's wife, Jesus came first, with all of the answers, and Daddy came second to carry out all of the answers.
I, on the other hand, had a mother (Daddy's first wife of over 20 years) that was a fatherless child. Her father died when she was 2 years old, and her mother never re-married, but raised six children. My mother always taught us that "you don't need a man to do stuff for you". One year for Christmas, she gave us all (4 daughters) our own tool kit. Mom and Daddy did not raise us religiously, and we are not raising our kids that way either. I don't need instructions. I don't need a crutch. I learn, I make mistakes, I try to learn from my mistakes.
If there was a God, my husband would not have died 7 weeks before my father died. If there was a God, these too very good men would still be alive, and if God needed angels, he could have taken people of lesser morals instead.
Here is where the coincidence comes in. Today is International Day to Defend Blasphemers and Apostates.
Today is the day Daddy died. Today is the day I became an apostate and a blasphemer.
a·pos·tate (
-p
s
t
t
, -t
t)
In the years leading up to his sickness (cancer), I was getting a ton of negative examples of religious thinking, or as I began to see, religious justification for discrimination and oppression. I also began to see religion as a crutch some people need, just like some people need instructions, just like some people need a recipe in order to cook. Some people need it, and that is fine. Go for it, if that is what you need. However, I don't need it, I don't believe it, and I don't want to hear about it.
Let me preface my next thoughts with - I loved Daddy very much. He was a GREAT dad. I would give almost anything if he were still alive, and I hate that he is not. I am very thankful that he was MY dad, and I couldn't imagine being the person I am today, if he was not my dad.
Not only was I getting negative example of religious thinking in the political arena, I was getting one from Daddy himself, or more specifically from his marriage and his wife. Daddy was not a social person, he was more of a thinker, an observer. He did, however, value close relationships. He did not want to be alone, he didn't want a bunch of people around, but he wanted close, personal relationships. I don't remember when he told me this story, but it happened about 12 or 13 years ago. (Daddy was not religious for most of his life, at least not most of my life, but somewhere along the way, that changed.) He was living in Colorado, alone, and he didn't want to be alone. He started praying and he said "I felt God hit me upside the head, and said Let me handle it". Well, God handled it alright. Shortly thereafter, Daddy met a very religious woman, and I mean very religious, such as praying while holding hands before every meal, her realtor had to be "Christian", her father was a church musical director, etc, etc, etc... Daddy thought this was the one God meant for him to have, so he married her. Daddy was a smart man, with a Master's Degree in business. He liked to read, and learn. He was on the cutting edge of the computer industry. His wife also had the potential to be smart too, but, she was raised to always give Jesus credit for EVERYTHING. Jesus would ALWAYS provide the answer. No thinking needed, just follow the directions in the bible. Do not question it. And, of course, in the Christian bible, the man/husband had all of the responsibility, or at least all of the thinking and providing responsibility. In the mind of Daddy's wife, Jesus came first, with all of the answers, and Daddy came second to carry out all of the answers.
I, on the other hand, had a mother (Daddy's first wife of over 20 years) that was a fatherless child. Her father died when she was 2 years old, and her mother never re-married, but raised six children. My mother always taught us that "you don't need a man to do stuff for you". One year for Christmas, she gave us all (4 daughters) our own tool kit. Mom and Daddy did not raise us religiously, and we are not raising our kids that way either. I don't need instructions. I don't need a crutch. I learn, I make mistakes, I try to learn from my mistakes.
If there was a God, my husband would not have died 7 weeks before my father died. If there was a God, these too very good men would still be alive, and if God needed angels, he could have taken people of lesser morals instead.
Here is where the coincidence comes in. Today is International Day to Defend Blasphemers and Apostates.
Today is the day Daddy died. Today is the day I became an apostate and a blasphemer.
a·pos·tate (
-pstt, -tt)
n.
One who has abandoned one's religious faith, a political party, one's principles, or a cause.
blas·phe·my (bl
sf-m
)n. pl. blas·phe·mies 1.
sf-m)n. pl. blas·phe·mies 1.
a. A contemptuous or profane act, utterance, or writing concerning God or a sacred entity.
(And thank you to whoever gave us freedom of speech.)
Monday, January 7, 2013
Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda
I have been trying to avoid thinking about the shoulda, coulda, wouldas. I have been successful at it for a while now, until I read some comments on the Facebook page Grief Beyond Belief. This page is for those of us that can't accept all the heaven and God speak. They have a "closed" group which means you have to be accepted as a member to see/read/comment and it is private, so it doesn't show up all over Facebook when you interact. This allows us to talk a bit more honestly, without having to censor ourselves, without having to worry that something we say will be hurtful to other family members. And, of course, we have all lost a loved one, so we have that pain in common.
There was a post that started bringing out anger some of us feel about our loved ones treatment by their main "care-giver". This was mostly directed towards our parents "step" fathers/mothers. How can our parents spouse do this to them? HOW can they not spend every breathing moment taking the best care of our Dad? How can you let someone die because you are not able to do it, and not willing to admit that you can't, so we can step in and take over. How can someone's best be so piss poor that they would prefer their husband die instead of make his last year the best one of his life? Why does this person deserve to still be alive and our Dad is not.
How can I be so mad at Stacy for encouraging Daddy to die, when I sat for two days and watched John deteriorate to the point of death? Why? Why didn't I do more? Why didn't I do something? What the fuck was I doing? All I can think is that the possibility of him dying NEVER entered my head. Never. I would like to think that had I known that was the outcome, John would have gone straight to the hospital from the ship. Immediately. If we had known, I would have gotten an ambulance to pick him up at the dock. I DIDN"T KNOW!!!! He was supposed to get better. I didn't know that stomach flu or food poisoning (whichever it was) would result in death.
Why didn't I see it? And because I didn't, John fucking died. Because I did not get him further medical treatment, John died. I could have saved him, and I didn't.
I didn't save him because I didn't know. I didn't know his heart was that bad. I didn't know, and I still don't know what and how it exactly happened. I don't know, and I never will know, what his body was doing. I will never know why his body shut down. I will never know why his heart stopped. I only know that I could have gotten him to someone that would have known, and I didn't.
I SHOULD have called an ambulance.
I COULD have called an ambulance.
I WOULD have called an ambulance.
I SHOULD have done more.
I COULD have done more.
I WOULD have done more.
I SHOULD have known more.
I COULD have known more.
I WOULD have gotten him the help he needed.
I realize none of this will bring him back. But, I cannot deny my part in his death. I have to look at it. I have to accept it. I have to learn from it. I have to forgive myself for being such a piss poor person that I don't deserve the oxygen that I breath.
There was a post that started bringing out anger some of us feel about our loved ones treatment by their main "care-giver". This was mostly directed towards our parents "step" fathers/mothers. How can our parents spouse do this to them? HOW can they not spend every breathing moment taking the best care of our Dad? How can you let someone die because you are not able to do it, and not willing to admit that you can't, so we can step in and take over. How can someone's best be so piss poor that they would prefer their husband die instead of make his last year the best one of his life? Why does this person deserve to still be alive and our Dad is not.
How can I be so mad at Stacy for encouraging Daddy to die, when I sat for two days and watched John deteriorate to the point of death? Why? Why didn't I do more? Why didn't I do something? What the fuck was I doing? All I can think is that the possibility of him dying NEVER entered my head. Never. I would like to think that had I known that was the outcome, John would have gone straight to the hospital from the ship. Immediately. If we had known, I would have gotten an ambulance to pick him up at the dock. I DIDN"T KNOW!!!! He was supposed to get better. I didn't know that stomach flu or food poisoning (whichever it was) would result in death.
Why didn't I see it? And because I didn't, John fucking died. Because I did not get him further medical treatment, John died. I could have saved him, and I didn't.
I didn't save him because I didn't know. I didn't know his heart was that bad. I didn't know, and I still don't know what and how it exactly happened. I don't know, and I never will know, what his body was doing. I will never know why his body shut down. I will never know why his heart stopped. I only know that I could have gotten him to someone that would have known, and I didn't.
I SHOULD have called an ambulance.
I COULD have called an ambulance.
I WOULD have called an ambulance.
I SHOULD have done more.
I COULD have done more.
I WOULD have done more.
I SHOULD have known more.
I COULD have known more.
I WOULD have gotten him the help he needed.
I realize none of this will bring him back. But, I cannot deny my part in his death. I have to look at it. I have to accept it. I have to learn from it. I have to forgive myself for being such a piss poor person that I don't deserve the oxygen that I breath.
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