Those little empty spaces- leaving them be.

I haven’t been to the barn since our barn cat Mango was hit and killed by a car last Wednesday. I’ve been recuperating from surgery. Sadly I can already feel in my heart what it will be like when I go down there -and Kevin has corroborated my thoughts -there’s an emptiness. He said it. This little cats death left an empty space.

No more will she come trotting down from the hayloft -her voice preceding her. Nor will she play chase with my horse crop as I flick it along the cement floor of the barn aisle. Nor will she try to bite me if I wanted to stop petting her (she wasn’t perfect:)). It’s just a dusty mess of emptiness. The barn is little more hollow. There’s a vacancy.

This isn’t a post about our little cat that we lost. I’ve posted many pictures of her and shared her over the years. She was a great barn cat. Freedom was hers and sadly that freedom is what also left her with more risks like busy roads. But what this post is about is those sad little empty spaces that beings that we love leave when they die.

We’ve had a number of those empty spaces this last year. They hurt. They make us feel off kilter. While there is -for me -no comparing the losses of my beloved humans to our loved cat- it is a loss. Human loss for me sweeps itself under my feet and pulls me up over myself and then scorches my heart. The loss of beloved pets scorch my heart but don’t render me as dislocated as human loss. But they are still losses that leave empty spaces.

I am so uncomfortable in this emptiness. My first inclination is to fill it up. Because to try to fill it up is easier than facing the sad empty spot head on. With my loss of Mango I’ve sped through the thoughts of “let’s get another cat” to “I’m never going to have another barn cat.” I’ve learned not to listen to any of these thoughts in the wake of loss. I’ve learned that you just have to visit the empty space and eventually in time it won’t be so uncomfortable.

With human loss it is the same but on a way bigger scale. We can’t replace the person we lost with another. Some will try. Some of us will attempt to replace that chasm with anything that can make that space seem so much less empty. But inevitably there isn’t anything to fill those spaces. They never close but they become less sad and uncomfortable.

Kevin said he thinks if we are supposed to get another barn cat it will happen. We will know. And I like that thought. It allows me to face head on the discomforting empty spot Mango left.

I am learning. I don’t always have to try to quell my discomfort. I can learn to just let it be. I can let myself feel what I need to in the time that I need to.

So when I get to the barn in the next few days I think I’ll stand and listen not for what Mango took with her -the little steps and the loud meows- but instead I’ll listen to the silence that she left in her wake and I’ll be thankful that I knew a being like her that left that empty space. Bc those empty spaces we feel really come from loving another – and how scary can something that came from love be?

Happy Birthday Dad


Today would have been my dad’s 82nd birthday. I still can’t believe he isn’t alive. He planned on living a long time. He never would have been ready to go I don’t think. In a way I’m glad his death was fast and he didn’t see it coming. Here then gone. 

I miss my dad and have grieved him plenty over this last tough year. I sometimes felt that I didn’t know how to navigate with him gone. It’s that loss of connection that leaves a hole.  That person I have never not known isn’t existent on this planet anymore. It’s still sometimes throws me for a loop. 

I think I’m to a point where I can sort through some of the boxes I was sent by my brother who went through his effects (aka stuff) and sent me things he thought I might want. That includes many photos. I have purchased albums for them and may sort through them in the fall. Some of his clothing was used to cushion the boxes and that was the hardest thing for me to deal with when I first opened the boxes. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. 

Grief needs to be felt in order to move on I think. I don’t enjoy it. I lost three people who were very important to me in a short time. It’s been rocky. But I see that the only healthy way is to trudge through it. But we all deal with grief in our own way. We let a little in at a time. Otherwise it’s like a landslide that can knock us over and cover us and keep us from moving at all. 

I think when we lose someone we feel like we are the only ones who feel that loss. It’s because grief is a personal thing. It’s lonely.  We can talk out our feelings some and sit with others feeling the loss as welll but -for me at least -grief is deeply personal. Some days it’s lonely. But with my dad’s loss I’m processing it and I’m moving forward. 

In a tough year I have been blessed as well. I went from needing to be in bed bc of severe chronic pain to being able to move again. That thanks to a surgeon who listened and cared. I’ve been able to buy a beach house for my family. That thanks to my brother who agreed to buy me out of my dads Florida condo (and it is on Marco Island and it did survive Hurricane Irma ). My kids are doing pretty well. All working and one in community college and the other two getting ready to apply. Things are good. 

Amidst grief and loss there is so much sadness but there is joy. Lately I’ve struggled some with my feelings about many things and I’ve gone to see a threpist that I really like. This a safe place where I can open up about conflicted feelings and just vent about the last four years and get it all out. It’s a process. 

I’m sitting on the beach as I wrote this.  Something my dad would have done today I’m sure. I’m looking at the Atlantic and he likely would have been looking at the Gulf of Mexico. But we both shared a huge love of the beach. 

I think about the up and downs of our relationship and the hurts. It was quite a ride. You always want your dad to get you and if doesn’t get you then he supports your dreams. My dad didn’t always get me. I think it was easier with him to relate to guys. He was a guys guy. 

When I began my love of baseball we had lots of conversations about our teams. It was a way to bond more with him. I’m glad for that added bonus of baseball becoming my go to sport. It helped when conversations became awkward or tense. 

I began the process of forgiving my dad years ago. We were always waxing and waning. I always wanted him to just see me for me. And maybe finally he did. 

He became enamored with my photography a couple years ago after I gave him a canvas of a little mountain called Sugarloaf that was near our home in Maryland. We hiked there a few times. I think he even went there alone sometimes. I’m so glad he thought I had talent. No matter your age most of us want our parents to be proud of us. 

There are many things about my dad I don’t know. He struggled with alcohol use and it seemed he was happiest when he was buzzed. Well maybe we all are. But he loved his alcohol too much and he would never admit that it had a hold on him and as he got older I decided maybe it didn’t really matter. Let him just have fun. 

And he did have fun. He had friends and he travelled. I’m so glad for that. He even married his long time love a few years ago. That didn’t end well and it’s not a story I choose to tell now. 

My dad is buried about 45 minutes from my home. In a Catholic cemetery- next to his second wife Jean.   She passed away from Cancer in 1994 at the age of 51. His first wife is my mom. She lives with me now. He definitely wanted to have a partner. I’m not sure he ever mastered being a great husband but I know he loved all of his spouses. I’ve found my dad loved people the best way he knew how. Don’t we all try to love the best way we know how? I think it’s never perfect because we aren’t God. 

Everyone has a story. I know my dads story is deeper than I’ll ever know here on earth. But as conflicted as our relationship could be at times I am so glad he was part of my life.  He was funny and charming. He cared and I know he loved me.

 Since he has been gone I come to see how much alike we really are. My impatience and tendcies toward moodiness and my quick temper are all him.  Though I don’t often show my temper like he could. 

My dad was as big as life itself. A huge precense when he was in a room not only in stature (he was 6’4″) but also in personality.  He was more outgoing than I am and he kept up with friends better than i did. Though I am trying to be better at that.

 Stan Wilson was something. And he was my dad. 

So I’m sitting here in the beach on a beautiful day on Sept 23 remembering my dad on his birthday. I thought I could get through this without tears. But I am not. And that is ok. I cry because I loved. 

Later today I will take some of his ashes and scatter them in the bay just near our beach cottage. I want to release him into the water which he so loved. Later when the gardens are done being put in at our cottage I will scatter some of his ashes there- so he is part of Cool Breeze Cottage. I can just hear him saying “Cool Breeze! Here comes Cool Breeze!”  My high school nickname -he loved nicknames. I hated that name then but now I have three teens and I so get it! 

So happy Birthday Dad. I’d like to think you are with loved ones -your dad, Nana, Jean , keenie. And Ernie , the haleys,and mr Deveraux, mr Vogelsinger and many more. 

Happy Birthday. Your daughter here on  earth misses you so much and will love you always. 

Faces on Paper 

The thing about feelings are they ebb and flow like the tides. One moment I’m ok. Having a good day. Doing fun things. The next I’m just something else. 

I wrote the post below in one sitting. After the purge I felt better went out had a great day with my family. We are down on the shore at our new cottage. I Sat on the calm bay during an eclipse that was anti-climatic here on our longitude and latitude but the serenity in the bay was medicinal as always. 

I’m trying to piece my way through these shift that I am experiencing. During the “normal” times where things feel more I balance I wonder if I am being over sensitive to the feelings I’m having.  But that’s the point my senses feel what they feel when they feel it. Body and soul. We have to honor what we are feeling. It’s so easy to push it away. I want to. But I’m also aware that this is a season of change and I will have to navigate it and face it   .  

So below is what I wrote two days ago and there has been an ebb and a flow again and again.  At some point maybe I will feel on a more even keel again. It been a long four years.

……

I sat crying in the shower -it’s a good place to cry. Hopefully nobody hears you. 

My sense of a numbness and a loneliness began about four weeks ago. It had be creeping up before that but it reared its ugly head in mid-July. A sense I wasn’t living my life, like I am living outside it it sometimes – a sense things have changed. I felt everything  is off kilter. Would it right itself? Will it? 

In the shower I felt the need to write. My words always form in the shower. Then I have to jump out dripping wet and run to type it all out. My words are never as eloquent as they are in the shower. The shower breaks me open sometimes. A cleaning of the body and opening up the soul. 

I think I am having a battle of body and soul. My body is trying to push my feelings down and my soul which usually wins is trying to push them up. The soul is protective and honest at the same time. 

I have experienced huge losses in the last two years. My father-in-law, then my dad -which was very sudden- and four weeks ago my mother-in-law. Add in the four years of dealing with the aftermaths of cancer and two major surgeries for that aftermath in six months and more to come and three teens that keep being -well , teens – my mom moving in – I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I feel the way I do.

I stood in the shower and drew a big heart on the wall and put my hand in it as I cried. Maybe I wanted to feel something familiar as I touched that wet or maybe I wanted it to heat up as a sign from someone who I loved that has crossed into the realm. I just wanted to feel something. And I felt sad so maybe that was ok. 

 I wanted something bc so many things seem shifted. 

Am I depressed? Shell shocked? Is it the meds I have to take?  Or am I just feeling the pangs of so much grief that I am holding in? 

My mother-in- law -Doris Sweeney- whom I called mom was one of my very best friends. She died July 18. She deserves a blog of her own and I will write about her when I can. I’m not ready but  I do miss her terribly. Sometimes I think maybe it’s wrong for me to grieve this loss so much bc this wasn’t my mom this was Kevin’s mom. Doesn’t he deserve to have this huge chasm of loss to himself? I feel like I am stealing his mom or the loss of her somehow. I know that’s not rational. But bc I must feel that way somewhere deep in my brain -my body is like a dam only letting bits of grief sink in. 

I think this and the fact that three people that I considered parents to me – even if two weren’t – have left this world. And crap do I miss them. 

My soul will win and require me to feel what I need to feel. It’s pushing me to deal with it all. I hope that it will get me off this rocking boat and help me to feel like I’m on dry sound land again. 

It’s lonely here. I have felt this loneliness before many years ago before I married Kevin. The alone feeling even when in a room of people. 

Kevin and his family brought so much light and balance  into my life. They have no idea. 

The other day at the memorial lunch I think I hoped it would feel like a reunion of family. That i would feel that warm feeling – like the room gets a bit warmer bc people love eachother and are happy to be together. But I just felt lonely. Nobody did anything wrong. It’s just that each of us was so sad and the part of our soul that touches each other was curled up hugging our own selves – protecting us. Or maybe it was just my soul was curled up and I couldn’t reach out. But everything was off. Sadness prevailed and was visible under the laughter and greeting of friends. Because the humans whose lives we were celebrating should have been there. 

It was a beautiful place and so many words of love were shared.  The gathering of friends was beautiful and I wanted to see my inlaws faces but all I had to look at were the many family photos we shared in collages that we all put together. 

Faces on paper were all that was left. 

I know I looked at the collages but I hardly recall any of the pictures. I even made three of the collages myself. Pinning the photos onto the framed boards one by one. I cried some. But I stealed away the feelings as best I could because other wise I couldn’t have done it. 

Faces on paper. And love and memories. I know this. But I’m not there yet. I know this is what life should be. Parents going before their children. 

Rationally I get all that. But I’m not there yet.  I’m off kilter, I feel this hole, too much has happened. 

I will begin counseling again but right now it seems too exhausting to tell someone everything that has happened.  Maybe I should give the therapist this blog post:) 

I just need a little time to see how this all processes. Writing helps. It does. It’s something that is familiar and balances me. Thank God for it. 

And God. I have written many times about my faith. I would admit  my faith has been tested sometimes in the last year especially. But in the last four I have had so many questions and some have been answered as best as they can be answered and others still flutter waiting for understanding that I might not get. But I think sitting in a church of any sort could help bc I feel a connection to God – but definitely not to a religion. I like bits and pieces of many but dislike bits and pieces too. But sometimes just sitting in a church worshipping and singing can help the soul heal. 

I sat on my horse yesterday. I longed for it. Needed it. For those few moments working with my horse some balance was in my life and that post horse buzz haloed around me for a good while.  But today that sense of unbalance of doing life but it really being part of it is back. 

I’m going out to paint some shutters for our cottage I’m hoping brush to wood will lighten this load o me at least for a while. 

There is a path that I must walk to get to a place of balance even if it is a new familiarity of my life. It’s changed the patriarchy and matriarchy that was once there is now mostly gone. What a gaping hole -albeit wound – it leaves. 

Lonely souls that have to learn to ride the rivers without a beacon ship. 

So much has happened my body and soul are trying to protect me I guess. Trying to keep the dam from breaking. In the meantime I’m floating down the river without a beacon ship  to lead me. Because now I -we- kevin and I and all my sweeney family -we- we are the new beacons  and I’m not ready to lead quite yet. 


Goals. What you picture. What is real. And lollipops.

Almost 6 weeks since surgery. I had forgotten from my first surgery what recovery was like. It’s a roller coaster. I’m doing more at six weeks post surgery than I did last time. The surgery is a tough one.  But I think I pictured a more pain free existence. I know I’m not going to have no pain there’s sooo much damage from radiation. But It’s better -don’t get me wrong – and maybe it’s because I’ve had a couple of rough days this last few days that maybe I’m feeling a little down.

 I was down at our new beach house a couple days ago and I was walking my dog Rudy. I must have been walking him with my right arm -the recently operated side- it was an unconscious thing- he must have pulled my arm which for me is like a big no no. Thankfully it wasn’t a hard enough pull that I really remember exactly when it happened. I remember mostly walking him with my left hand but we did come upon another dog and maybe it was then that I grabbed the leash with both hands and got pulled. I didn’t have the leash put in in its anti-pull setup. I bought it just for that but I was only taking him for a quick pee that turned into a walk to the bay and on the way back is when we met with John our neightbor and his dog Abby. So my bad. And later after a nice nap on the couch in Cool Breeze Cottage family room I woke up with lots of pain.  The burning pain and  radiating pain that makes me cough. The thing that I’ve wanted to be rid of but doesn’t seem to want to leave. It’s deflating. But likely due to radiation damage. 

I saw my surgeon last Thursday and he’s pleased with my recovery. I think he’s surprised that I don’t take more pain medication but I do take enough just so I can get out an about. I have been hoping that the need to use it will abate as I heal more. I’m to begin working on more range of motion exercises which I fear will bring me the pain I’ve had since the pulling incident a couple days ago.  But I can’t be afraid because there is the thought that more range of motion might alleviate some of the pain-eventually. Much of my pain since the first surgery that removed surgical clips is related to scarring and to nerve damage from radiation treatments. The damage tightens skin and tissue and causes entrapment of the nerves….and the nerves get damaged from radiation as well.  

Why I have such a severe case is unknown. But the long term painful effects of cancer treatments are really just being studied.  In many ways I’m a guinea pig every time I go under the knife and entrust myself to the skills of my nerve surgeon. My surgeon continues to suggest things we can try in the future. Fat grafting is one. It shows much promise. But it’s hard for me to picture my life like this. As a person with chronic pain.  Overall I’m much better than I was but I am afraid to get too optimistic. I am also bummed that we can’t solve the issue that makes me cough but I think we are getting closer to the cause- but fixing it may not be possible. Managing it may be my only option. 

Last Thursday I was feeling good. Then The dog pulled me and I feel like I went backwards. This has happened before- a few weeks ago when I overdid range of motion exercises. I recovered and continued healing. I got down then, and I felt the same fear then that I have now. That fear that I’ve done some damage to myself and it won’t get better. I don’t want to feel so negatively but it’s so hard not to be sometimes. The last four years have not been easy and the last year has taken me from someone who could walk out the door and not think a thing but whether I had my sunglasses to someone who has to worry about whether I have my pillow -which I need because I can’t sit without pain if I don’t have it-, whether I have pain meds with me, or if I have an ice pack or heating pad. It’s not what I pictured my life would be. 

I picture my life much differently. I see myself more free and more pain free. Then there is the reality of the now. I still feel sidelined much of the time.  I have to meld what I picture for myself to the realities. I know that we can have plans for ourselves and life will often take us on a different path. I will keep the pictures I have in my head as eventual realities. They are goals. They keep me going. Maybe they will be but not exactly as I picture. Coming to grips with the realities of what life is is very hard for me. On days like this I feel sorry for myself. I cry. On days like this I know I need to get my butt up and do something. Even if it takes medication to get me moving I need to do it. 

The other day at the nerve surgeons office I saw a young girl. She was from Israel. She was beautiful, maybe 25. She was with her translator. I was standing at the snack counter grabbing a lollipop – my surgeon always has lollipops-the good kind-Tootsie Pops. I offered her the container she shook her head no and smiled. She stood up to leave. She did well standing on her two prosthetics, happy, bc whatever procedure she had that day made her pain free. It wouldn’t last it was just a diagnostic procedure, but her smile was beautiful. I knew from chatter in the back office that she had been the victim of an IED explosion as she was traveling  in a bus- lost the lower part of both her legs. Seeing her was real life smacking you in the face. I wanted to hug her but offering her the lollipop was all I could do. You could see she was a girl who didn’t want pity -she just wanted to be rid of her pain. 

 Perspective. 

I thought of her today as I was writing this post. We all have to wake up with our realities. I think I’ll get myself up and go live my life and deal with mine.

It’s all in your perspective.  Sometimes my day sucks but I have a choice what I’m going to do with my day.

I’m going to try to go to the garden center and buy a perennial for my cleaned out garden bed….

I’m pretty sure that I’ll think of that girl often.

Cool Breeze Cottage

My dad called me “Cool Breeze” when I was a teen. I hated it. It implied that I was trying so hard to be cool.  Which in fact I was trying to be cool but he needn’t point it out on a daily basis. 

My dad called a spade a spade(I kind of inherited that trait from him but I think I’m a little softer in my approach but my teens might not agree.) . And he was half joking. It was his way of taking out his frequent frustration with his teen daughter in a comical way. But I was an all about drama teen and I did not like the name at all. 

He would sometimes make it all drawn out. “Here comes Coooool BReeeze , Cooooool Breeze”. It probably didn’t help I carried a large comb in my back pocket and a big attitude on my shoulder.

I tried to ignore it. Sometimes it almost made me laugh when he said it. My dad liked when people were in on the joke but I would not give him the satisfaction. We weren’t buds. And I was trying so hard to be cool. Forget that I was majorly insecure. I would play the part of cool teen. But sometimes my facade cracked.  That’s why the name stung. I was so far from cool. 

But I get it now. And I miss my dad and would love to talk to him again and say “remember when you used to call me Cool Breeze?”  And we’d laugh. 

Over the years we’ve talked about  old Cool Breeze. And I even gave him the satisfaction of a laugh. And the name became a memory –any sting I had from it is long gone. It became a story between a daughter and a dad who sometimes struggled to find things to chat about.  I tear up writing this because I can chat up the best of them -why was it so hard to find things to say to my dad?  And he me?  

I sure can think of lots of things to say now. We weren’t perfect but I miss that man. I tell him that everyday when I wake up. Sometimes I hear him in my head. 

And recently  I was searching for a name for our newly purchased beach cottage. A dream that came true only because my dad isn’t here and my brother bought me out of my dad’s Florida condo thst we both inherited. But our beach cottage is a true dream that became real on April 10, 2017.  It’s still sinking in – and I thought we have to name it something to remind me of my dad. I went through a bunch of ideas. I didn’t like any. Then one day I began pondering name possibilities and Cool Breeze just popped into my head. 

Of course- so I sent Kevin a text “how does Cool Breeze Cottage sound?”

“Perfect”. He wrote back. 

And so I want to introduce you to Cool Breeze Cottage in Delaware. It’s six miles to the beach but a couple minute walk to the Indian River Bay.  Far enough to get away from the crazy summer crowds  of Bethany Beach but close enough to join in when we want. 

We are one of the smallest houses in the neighborhood but when I first saw it online I didn’t know that. And something about the place drew me in. I wasn’t going to look at it because it was out of the price range. But on one sunny day in February we drove out to the shore to look at a few places. I was in pain and traveling for me involved laying in the back of our conversion van with my dog and  popping pain meds and streaming shows on my iPad while Kevin drove. My goal was to get out of the van look over each house on our list and get back in the van and go home. 

We finished our tour of four places and we had two good possibilities and I told Kevin to drive up to the neighborhood where we had looked on one previous trip where we lost out on a house because we weren’t quick enough to make an offer. I loved that area and as we drove I opened realtor.com on my iPad and checked my saved listings and that cottage popped up and had dropped 17k!  I did a double take then told Kevin -we were looking at the cottage at least from the outside. 

We pulled up in front of the gray blue cottage and called our agent right away. She came right over and let us in and the rest is history.  

It wasn’t until we made the next trip over (again me in the back of the van on pain meds) for the inspection that I noticed what the neighborhood was like.  And how close it was to the bay. Kevin and I walked over to the little walkway that led to the bay beach and we just grinned at eachother. It’s a dream come true. We are excited and humbled at the same time.  

I’m determined to enjoy it despite pain issues. In spite of pain issues 🙂 We hope to make some good memories there. 

My dad and  I had talked about maybe buying something together at the Delaware shore not long before he died. He loved that area. We spent many summer vacation weeks there. My love for the area continued and we began to go with our kids when they were pretty young. 

My dad will be missed but somehow I think he’ll be around. And I think he’d be proud. And I’m pretty sure he put that name in my head. 

Cool Breeze . A name I hated, then laughed about and now love. 

Miss ya dad. 

Cool Breeze Cottage

Recovery and getting help. 

My wonderful husband Kevin has been worried about my surgical recovery in the aftermath of my fathers death.  It takes a long time to recover from nerve surgery and I haven’t been sure how I’m supposed to be feeling. I notice small improvements but then I’ll have a bad day. Physically and emotionally. 

I’ve been a wreck about my dads passing and we are planning his funeral and when you are trying to get family in from out of state and kids in from colleges and high school teens schedules it gets a bit crazy.  So Kevin has taken over some of the calling to funeral homes and to the reception place. I’m sure passing some of this off is a good thing.  Giving up control to others is not easy for me. I’m a good planner but I’m just not up to doing all that I’ve been assigned. My brother and I have been splitting tasks and he already planned the memorial for dad in Florida. I feel I need to really help plan the funeral up here in DC. But I’m going to have to give up some control. I need to heal. 

Since Kevin was worried about my recovery so was I. I encouraged him to write my surgeon. Which he did. And yesterday on a Saturday he wrote kevin -twice-back asking some questions and concerned about how this death and the grief I’m carrying is effecting my recovery. He is a great man. I’m lucky we found him. He asked if I was moving enough. He also wants to see me next week. He thinks I need to get into PT. In a pool. If it’s warm I’m cool with that! 

Kevin told me what my surgeon said so I thought about it. I’m not moving enough I’m stuck. I feel like when I get up I can’t do much and I often end up hurting. I’ve been walking but not enough. I’m not trying. I’m down. 

So I decided to get my butt up. I popped a little more percoset. (I take less than 1/2 a pill a day. I’m so weird about meds.) but the amount I take helps so that’s good. I got my shoes on and I went outside with my phone and just walked around. I took pictures and I took a walk. Then I came back in the house a couple hours later and I didn’t go back to bed until bedtime. I hurt some but I was ok. I felt kind of normal though. Like a person living in my home. Not a patient. 

It’s been easy to just stay in bed BC it hurts to get out but once I do I realize it’s what I need to do. I need to recover physically and mentally. 

I’ve had calls from caring friends. A couple encouraging me to seek therapy BC I have been through so much. My friend Jon told me that he knew I was strong but I had been through more stuff in a short period of time and I needed to seek professional help. I think he worried I might be upset but I so appreciate that he cared. It has been a horrible time and he reached out. I’ve been to lots of therapy so I fully agreed I needed to go. But getting my butt there might be hard. But I decide not to listen to all my buts..  I knew I wanted a person older than I am so I found Polly and she sounds nice and caring and I am hoping to meet her next week. I will be downloading on her (a new term I’ve seen streaming tv shows). She may be on the floor after I finish! 

I’m thankful to Jon for saying point blank “get some help”.  I was in a bad place for a long time even before my dad passed.  Jon ignited a spark in me to get myself together again. I need help to do it. Therapy will be a gift to me. 

So yesterday I took some photos on a gorgeous fall day. I wanted to share them with you. I love fall the the season changing and it reminds me that I am in a tough season of my life but my season will change. But I need to have my mindset right and push my body some to get there. 

Love Dad…..

Mornings are the hardest. It’s like when I awoke on Sept 12, 2001 and for just a minute I’d forgotten the world was changed forever and then the realization and horror hit me like a ton of bricks recalling the horrible terrorist events of the day before. It’s much like that now –  I wake in a haze -sometimes it’s 3am ,sometimes 4 am sometimes I even wake at those hours and somehow will myself not to let myself think or feel anything -and if I’m lucky it waits a little longer in the morning to pound me. That wonderful moment of haze and  then I feel the tug or shot of pain from my surgical scar but then the pounding realization that I lost my dad overwhelms me. I hurt all over. Grief emulates from the inside out.  

I know it will ebb someday but the loss of a parent  is so life changing – more painful than I could ever conceive.  

Sleep has been an elixir. But my body hasn’t wanted to do that much. Pain medication has been helpful and I have some because of the surgery -but I take it so sparingly for fear of addiction. I have hunger sometimes but no appetite. The wonderful meals people have brought over – smell so good-yet I try to eat but I’m not able to get much down. 

On days where I can’t eat much I go for the bad stuff-cake or ice cream – cookies (except my dogs ate most of those when they found them near my bed). Even then I can’t eat in much quantity. I know this is the grief diet -the lack of appetite and the white sugar carb only foods that keep me fueled. We’ve met before. It will subside in time. 

Losing a parent is -at least for me -so profound. I realized in the wake of all that the last weeks have brought that I’ve always been a child. And thankfully because I still have my dear mom I still am.  But as soon as I learned that my dads situation was dire I yelled in my room “daddy don’t leave me” over and over.  I hadn’t called my dad daddy in years. The grief that hit me was paralyzingly. A couple of my kids were home and i heard them shuffling outside my door and I tried to calm myself – I’m not sure I heard myself yelling. My daughter came in and asked if she could do anything and asked if she should stay home from work. I know for her that work was the best place for her to be.  I told her it was ok to go. As it turned out she was able to say goodbye to my dad over the phone when she got home later that night. We held a prayer circle around my dad with family on the phone and my brother and his friend by my dads side in Florida. 

We didn’t have time to get down to Florida to be there. I didn’t go down to help my brother navigate my dads medical issues that led to this last trip to the hospital bc I was recovering from surgery.  It’s that suddenness that’s is so hard. You wonder what your last words were that he was conscious to hear. You wonder what things you wish you said when the person was living. 

My last words to my dad when he was conscious in the Physical in-patient rehab facility were “I Love You”.  My last words to him as he left the world were the same. 

I’m still not sure I can bring myself to write about the last weeks of my dads life.  I’m still getting my mind wrapped around the fact he’s gone. But I would be remiss in not talking about my dad. I spent a lot of time not writing about him when he was living. And I did so because my dad had his flaws. I guess I didn’t want to hurt him if he read anything unflattering  about himself.  We all have flaws but I didn’t want to hurt anyone I loved. We had a roller coaster ride of a relationship. Not often understanding each other. My teen years with him were hard. My dad liked to drink and back then he could be an angry person when he had too much. I also am sure my teenage antics caused him a lot of reasons to get angry with me. There are so much that goes into the dynamics of a relationship. And through the years I sometimes felt like my dad didn’t like me and often I didn’t like him. But man did I love him. And I always will. And I know that though we could have so many differences from politics to how we chose to live our lives that my dad may not have always liked me but I know he loved me. 

His ways of showing love were different than obvious affection. He didn’t like goodbyes at all. So it was fitting that he never regained consciousness in his last hours. If he knew he was leaving us he’d have preferred to slip away. But he had a fierce sense of responsibility to my brother and I.  His desire was to leave us each some money. And he succeeded. Though I’d prefer to having my dad around still to drive me nuts than to have the money he left me. But I know he’s happy that he was able to leave us this final  gift.  

My dad had grown up less than wealthy and had been fortunate to receive a great education with the help of a wealthy and wonderful Uncle named Jim. And that education enabled him to become a successful businessman. He was always careful with his spending. I often thought he was a miser.  Sometimes it was so hard for him to spend a dime. He loved money too much sometimes but I think there was great fear in somehow losing it.

 In my youth I began seeing money as a means of control and I saw that money didn’t always buy happiness. So I went the opposite  direction and mismanaged my money and then my families and that infuriated my dad when I mistakenly told him about out issues a couple years ago. It was fear that drove that anger but it hurt me. One never gets over wanting to please their parents.  Eventually we filed bankruptcy and I don’t know if my dad ever knew this fact. But from that I learned so much we are back on our financial feet – doing better – making better choices on spending and saving – and I don’t plan on mismanaging the money I inherit.  In fact the last time I saw my dad he introduced me to his financial advisor- hoping that when he died I would use him.(and I will).  As it turns out the advisor is also the administrator of my dads trust. I had no idea six months ago when I met him we would be meeting again so soon.  Making sure he could leave us some money was a final gift of love that my dad left us. I want to be smart about it for my families benefit and out of respect to my dad. 

My dad and I had an argument about a year or two ago. He had a hard time listening to me and I suppose I became loud and frustrated as I had many times over the years but I had tried to quell in recent years preferring to just try listening to him bc I loved him and maybe it didn’t matter if he actually heard me. (I began writing when I was a kid solely so I could express myself because I felt my words went unheard so often – even with my peers – maybe all kids feel that way but it’s in this frustration of needing to be heard that my writing need and desire were born -so in many ways I’m grateful). Anyway that day I yelled back and the argument didn’t end well. We were on the phone which complicated things more I think. My dad used his speaker when he chatted and that made me nuts – though I use speaker now often- is it an age thing or a tech thing but it can be so annoying causing disjointed conversations. Maybe we were both on speaker that day booming voices being heard talking over each other. Nobody listening. So the call ended not well and now I can’t recall if someone hung up on the other but it was a bad ending. Which led me to promise myself I wasn’t going to call him ever again ( so teenager-esque –we are children always with our parents and our immaturity can really come out when dealing with them). 

About a week after that argument I got an envelope from him from his home on Marco Island, Fl. It was kind of bulging.   I opened it to find two pretty, white sand dollars wrapped in tissue. One had broken a bit but the other – the big one- remained intact. – and a small note was included that simply said “I thought you might like these . There are many here on the Island. – Love Dad.”  There was no I’m sorry -but he had raised the white flag with the gift of those beautiful white sand dollars. And I called him to thank him- we never mentioned the fight. But that act by a sometimes impossible man was how he best showed his love.  Those sand dollars will forever be in my shell collection vase. They aren’t just stuff from the sea – which he and I both loved- they are a gift of love. 

Dad and I were on a good run in the last year or more. We were in a good place. We talked often on the phone and had a nice visit in Florida last March. I’m so very grateful for that. I laugh as I recall some of those conversations. Ones which often ended with a speech about the candidate for President he very much disliked. I just listened and laughed bc he was very funny.  He wasn’t looking for a conversation or my opinion -he just wanted to be heard and an ear I gave.

 I suppose I held on to some sadness and anger over the differences we had over the years even when I thought I had let them go. But I know I’ve let much of it go now.  Everything he was became so clear to me in the moments he was dying. Not the flaws or disagreements, not just my daddy, but the whole man. All I felt was love for this big personality that was part of my life.  It was as if God gave me that gift of seeing him as a human -exactly like me. A soul trying to figure out how to get through this thing called life – and trying to love in the best way he could.