There is too much to fill in over the past year. I am still struck every single day by things I miss about my dad. Some joke he would make, a question I wish I could ask, something new or funny I wish I could tell him. I am still stuck in the numb, only it's been incubating for just over a year now and is starting to awaken & claw at its shell, threatening to hatch a full scale Harpy/Banshee/Dragon Lady of doom through the perforations left in my heart. This weekend would have been his 55th birthday. This morning marks the first I have had a computer at my disposal since I lived with my parents when I first moved back from Mass and started this blog. Hopefully, by writing I can crack the seal on my head and heart and somehow find myself again. I feel like my heart-compass has a lost it's magnetic pull most of the time and writing is the only tool I know I have to somehow start chipping at the walls where I've subconsciously sealed off passages to my own growing inner labyrinth.
As a daughter, I expected to struggle with my loss and sense of grief, though having no ideas what the parameters might be. However, I had no idea the burden and challenge it is to maintain my ideals as a mother... My renown patience levels have dropped incredibly. I yell, I slam doors, I take long drives, sometimes I even manage a few tears. Everything seems trivial compared to the fact that one person can be diagnosed and completely eaten away by an illness in less time than it takes to create & incubate a new one. How can people be so focused on controlling the minutia of their own lives and ignore the fact that every day, EVERY day, is a gift? I see so much focus on ridiculous details in my own life & the lives around me. So, every day, I try and do something that I would feel proud telling my dad- whether it is kicking ass and taking names doing 4 loads of laundry one in one day, company cleaning a room or accomplishing some small goal from my to-do list, including showing patience and gentleness when I am feeling overwhelmed... The latter is probably the hardest.
On top of what I am feeling (or not feeling) in my grief cycle, I am 7 months pregnant. We are naming him Patrick James, after our respective father's middle names. I knew it was going to be difficult timing with a pregnancy, but felt much more strongly that being given the chance at creating life when my sorrow has been based on the lack of opportunity is a gift. But growing life while trying to let go of another is a huge balance to strike. Feeling anything at all that makes sense is hard enough, let alone something functional and productive. I feel like sometimes, being pregnant is the only thing that allows me to unabashedly feel at ALL... the hormones seep through the numb and out of my eyes or lips, always hot and bitter.
In those times, I have begun to think of my dad as, "The Unflappable Barry Johnson". I can count in my head the times he got angry, and considerably less so the times that he yelled or lost his temper. It makes me feel guilty and hurt even more when I feel like I can't stand it- I want so much for the rest of my life to show the influence he had on me, to not lose to gentle, silly guidance he always provided and to be the same for my own children. Instead, I am saddled with my own inability to cope, along with the sense of guilt and failure for not being able to be who I want because of it.
There are many responsibilities and friendships I have let go by the wayside- if you're reading this and know me personally, I'm sure I haven't called and have been meaning to for about a year now... trust me, you're not alone. In fact, I can't honestly think of a friend I've seen this past year, save a handful of necessary/accidental path crossings. I didn't have a birthday gathering for the first time ever when I turned 31 in August... I don't feel like bringing my sorrow into the spotlight and I don't feel like I can or should mask it, either.
I have worked so hard to stay positive over the years throughout plenty of hardships, I feel I've earned a reputation as some sort of maternal yogi... and now, I just feel human and disappointing, to myself and everyone else. I don't have any sunshiney, inspirational quotes. I have grief. I now have a computer to smear it around on. This is what it looks like, I guess. The first step towards getting through anything is acknowledging it, so at least I have that much down. Look, a gigantosaurus mountain of ache! Fantastic. If any of you find some Bi-bi-di-boppidi-boo cure, let me know. There wasn't one for my dad, just a long road of suck until it took him out... hopefully this grief doesn't do the same for me. Feh.
"The deeper the sorrow, the less tongue it hath." Talmud
Back to life, laundry and the pursuit of peace.
