When the pain of loss begins to fade
I've noticed that once the holidays ended and life normal resumed, the pain in my heart began to fade.
Last night, walking home under an almost full moon, I thought of dad and flinched, waiting for the accompanying feeling of being stabbed in the heart. But it never came.
Which leads me to wonder if I am 'getting over' the loss and the pain that rides alongside of it.
I think not. I think this is yet another shift or phase in the process.
Much of it is helped by a partner who is doing more to reach out to me and make me feel valued: spending more time together, and little things, like fixing breakfast on the weekends and bringing me a snack while we watch t.v. in the evenings.
Food. Nurturing. Caring. It's helped a lot.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Nothing Happens by Accident
They say there are no accidents...
The last day I saw dad alive was January 2nd, 2008. I left for work early the next morning while dad was still asleep. Dad's flight wasn't until later in the day, so he the morning to pack and take a bath.
At 11:00am I received a call from home: dad had slipped getting out of the bathtub and bruised his arm. We didn't feel it warranted a trip to the hospital (nothing broken, he still had mobility in his arm and fingers): dad felt bruised and shaken. I checked back a couple of times and once past the initial shock, he felt fine.
Now I look back and think...he was trying to tell me then and there that he was sick and needed help.
The last day I saw dad alive was January 2nd, 2008. I left for work early the next morning while dad was still asleep. Dad's flight wasn't until later in the day, so he the morning to pack and take a bath.
At 11:00am I received a call from home: dad had slipped getting out of the bathtub and bruised his arm. We didn't feel it warranted a trip to the hospital (nothing broken, he still had mobility in his arm and fingers): dad felt bruised and shaken. I checked back a couple of times and once past the initial shock, he felt fine.
Now I look back and think...he was trying to tell me then and there that he was sick and needed help.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Unspoken Messages
What signs did your lost one leave behind?
Maybe it's dads. Maybe it's men in general (sorry guys). Certainly it was true with my dad: few words spoken.
Not that he couldn't talk a lot. In fact, with dad, 2,000% more after the head injury he sustained in 1984. A head-on collision with an 18-wheeler and dad's Nissan Sentra did it. Thank God for the firewall on that Sentra! The car's engine was reduced to about 16" but the firewall kept it from coming into the car and unto dad's lap.
The jolt bruised dad's brain (the right side), resulting in having to put a shunt in to drain off the fluid that was collecting. Dad lived with a little dent in his head from that day forward.
That and the ability to talk and talk and talk. But mostly to non-family people. He could chat with the best of them. And yet, with family, he remained a man of extraordinarily few words.
Mostly gestures.
When he as angry, he would sit with his coat on in the house 24/7. When he was sad, he went to his room and lay on the bed, sulking.
Talking about how he felt about his children...well, that was a whole other thing. Then dad remained relatively quiet.
So imagine my amazement when we went to the bedroom where my dad last lived. There, on the window sill, were 3 clay art projects that my brothers and I did when we were in...ohhh...1st or 2nd grade.
Who knew that they still existed? Yet there they were. Right above his bed.
Who needs words?
Maybe it's dads. Maybe it's men in general (sorry guys). Certainly it was true with my dad: few words spoken.
Not that he couldn't talk a lot. In fact, with dad, 2,000% more after the head injury he sustained in 1984. A head-on collision with an 18-wheeler and dad's Nissan Sentra did it. Thank God for the firewall on that Sentra! The car's engine was reduced to about 16" but the firewall kept it from coming into the car and unto dad's lap.
The jolt bruised dad's brain (the right side), resulting in having to put a shunt in to drain off the fluid that was collecting. Dad lived with a little dent in his head from that day forward.
That and the ability to talk and talk and talk. But mostly to non-family people. He could chat with the best of them. And yet, with family, he remained a man of extraordinarily few words.
Mostly gestures.
When he as angry, he would sit with his coat on in the house 24/7. When he was sad, he went to his room and lay on the bed, sulking.
Talking about how he felt about his children...well, that was a whole other thing. Then dad remained relatively quiet.
So imagine my amazement when we went to the bedroom where my dad last lived. There, on the window sill, were 3 clay art projects that my brothers and I did when we were in...ohhh...1st or 2nd grade.
Who knew that they still existed? Yet there they were. Right above his bed.
Who needs words?
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