I’m in one hell of an emotional pit right now. It’s vast and deep and not particularly well decorated, like one of those extended stay inns, although this one doesn’t have access to the Applebees. It’s not the pints of Ben & Jerry’s type of emotional funk, not only because I don’t favor sweets, but also because I have none. Acquiring some fudge brownie concoction would require a trip to the corner store, and I don’t want to get off the damn couch. I haven’t returned some phone calls and emails for a few weeks now, and that only frustrates and discourages me. There’s no way to catch up to all of this. I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to meet up. I don’t really want to do anything at all.
Next Monday will be the one year anniversary of my father’s death. I’m tearing up as I type that, with no idea why, exactly. There aren’t any specific memories sitting at the forefront, but there’s surely a dull, dull ache in my chest and a presence that pervades my dreams. This will sound awful, insensitive even, but there was a part of me that thought that my father’s death would provide some relief to my mother, a lessening of the strain that weighs on caregivers. If it has, I haven’t seen it. Things are as difficult as they’ve always been, they’re just different. The dynamics have changed but the tone remains the same.
I don’t know what one does to commemorate a death, and frankly, I don’t care about the norm. I know that people are fond of celebrating life, but I’m struggling to remember a time when he was completely healthy. Did I know him when he was well? I must have. The images of early days are vivid but painfully brief, of a man in dark jeans running to catch a softball, loose change and keys clanking in his front pocket. A four-second memory. Dad in the 80s at the shore, his hair twisting at his neck courtesy of the inescapable blanket of Jersey humidity. Slim, he wears plaid swim trunks and smokes a Winston in the shade of a cheap umbrella. He says nothing. In early photos he’s describable only as dashing, odd for a daughter to write, but completely accurate. The palest of green eyes translate very well to black and white. Yet there’s no real movement to these memories, to these reminders on Kodak paper. I can’t hear his voice when I review them, despite intense study. There’s no substance to them.
I feel guilt that my focus returns quickly to me, to the everyday stressors I find taxing and insurmountable. The blah blah blahs of life, of routine, the stuff bitch sessions are made of. I sometimes think I need some sort of cleanse, or Silkwood shower, something to rinse all the junk away so that I can start again. The new year hasn’t helped to lift my mood, because while the saccharine Whos and the Munchkins look at January as a time of renewal, I’m prone to saying a big old fuck you to the new year and her resolutions, given their incredible power in setting me up for failure. They are also a reminder as to where I am right now, a place that’s not particularly pleasant or worthy of a Facebook status update. “No date for work Christmas party; still 20 pounds heavier than I want to be; cats are healthy!” And there come more tears.
This too shall pass, people always say, and at those moments I wait with bated irritation for them to pat me on the head. Like uncomfortable words offered about death, I sometimes wish people wouldn’t say anything at all.
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40 Comments
*sits quietly in the room, just for the sake of presence*
I think the first anniversary is probably the hardest. Get through it any way you can. And if you can’t shake this funk in a couple of weeks, please see a doctor. xo
You’re tearing up with no idea why? It’s called grief and you’re entitled to it–not to mention that it’ll come and kick your ass whether it thinks you’re entitled or not. But from what I’ve read here, you’re just too vibrant for it to take over your life completely. Let someone into that living room to sit on the sofa with you–maybe play some board games so you stop thinking so much, or watch trash TV. I’m all for distracting until the mind can sort itself out.
Take care.
I can attest that the first year is definitely the hardest…and I felt the same guilt with going on about life without the constant grief…feeling like I should have given more of myself to misery…but my mom wouldn’t have wanted it, and neither would your father. Allow yourself a bit of time to be sad and reflect, but then move on and be happy because that’s what he would have wanted.
Do what you gotta do, my friend. Fuck the new year, and fuck anybody who implies that there’s a right way for you to be doing things.
thinking of you. saying screw you to any ideas of norms and what you “should” be doing and “ought” to be doing and all that crap. do what you need to do right now, and don’t worry about the rest.
awww sugar….
*hugs*… and… you dont owe anyone anything..your friends will still be here when you decide you are ready to come out…
take care of you….
xoxo
I don’t know if it ever gets easier when you’re dealing with grief but it does shift. I still cry sometimes, seventeen years later, thinking about my dad. There are moments when I wonder if I ever knew him and have a hard time remembering anything but the drinking years and then the sickness. I have those old snapshots and I frame them, display them in my house, hoping that by surrounding myself with them I’ll feel some sort of comfort or connection.
The thing with losing someone that close to you is that when life is sucking big dirty stinky hairy donkey balls, the grief compounds it. Perspective is askew. And it’s hard to find a reason to get off the couch.
All this carrying on is to say, I hear you. And I’m sorry you’re in that place. And if you ever want company, I’m available.
xxoo
i’ve been in this moment. you pretend that everything is ok because as bad as it sucks ass, the effort in pretending is still ultimately easier than breaking down in front of someone who’s asked one too many times “is everything ok” and you tripped up and said “notsomuch”. and somehow the empty bottle of pino you pull out of your shower on a saturday morning didn’t make it any better easier. yes, i’ve been there.
.
My mother died six years ago…I always take that day off, just in case. Do whatever it is that you need to get through.
I know that it is of no comfort now because the weight feels impossible to lift, but it slowly gets lighter. Some days are easier than others…laughter definitly is the best medicine, even if that consists of watching a ridiculous movie on your couch in your dirty pjs after a little too much wine.
My take on me – never expect to loose the multitude of feelings, strength comes from your acceptance of them, your feelings – they are your reality. Best wishes X
I’m naming my rock band Bated Irritation.
I’m thinking of you and praying for some relief to come your way very soon. If you need me to send you some homemade mashed potatoes (my comfort food of choice), you just let me know. Take care, Darling.
I wouldn’t try to feel normal right now- just know that things will feel better eventually. And its pausing to remember all these things about your dad that allow him to live on in your heart.
1 year, 3 years. No matter the timeline. The grief wells up at unexpected moments and pulls us under. There are no norms for grief, there are only memories and the want for that person back in your life.
cut yourself some slack.
My Mom died June 04, my Dad died Dec. 06, my nephew Feb. 08. There is grief in most days. It takes a longer time to pass through the haze than anyone wants to admit.
I’ll just come over with vodka and snacks and sit quietly on your couch.
http://www.shamanlinks.net/Soul_Retrieval.htm
it may sound far fetched, but this one ceremony brought me more relief from my own grief, fear, trauma, need for forgiveness, etc… than years and years of therapy ever did. not sure where you live but there are folks doing shamanic work all over the world. it’s very healing stuff.
If you feel a sudden trip to Portland would help out, let me know. Martinis will be my treat.
Other than that, I’ve got nothing….just best wishes for comfort.
I have not experienced this grief, but have suffered from depression my whole life. I just deal with the “I’m am not moving off my couch or speaking to anyone…” time periods by allowing myself to stop feeling guilty. You’re already miserable, don’t beat yourself up…it’s ok to be sad.
I’m sorry for what you are going through.
I’m not going to say anything to make it better. Just want to sat that Elizabeth Corday is returning to ER this week. And I may have let out a SQUEEE at the TV when I saw this. And you are the only other person on the planet that watches ER, so I had to share.
There needs to be some sort of international symbol for “hug” so I can put that here and not have to say anything.
I recommend that you start watching The City and U.S. of Tara (that new show on Showtime… I think there’s only 1 episode). They’re both at the beginning of their respective series (The City has 3 episodes available OnDemand & the other 1 only has 1 episode). I bonded hardcore with TV this past week and those shows were mindless and addicting. It’s too cold out now to socialize anyway!
*silence, but not silent*
Not a heavy silence, where you hear the things that aren’t being said, but the silence of peace, of shared pain and traveling down the same road.
I’m can’t wait for t2ed’s band to come to town. I heard they’re going to be touring with Emotional Funk.
Oh, man, I totally feel you on this one. No date, still 20 lbs too heavy, and the dogs are healthy!
Oh, and I’m extremely bitter, too, and I don’t care who knows it.
How about still drinking more than I should, 20 lbs heavier than I want to be and my dad has to have more surgery and probably wishes he would die (I, however, disagree with him)? Oh, the pets, kids and husband are healthy.
I really feel for you, Kris. I fear I may be going through this same thing before too long and if I’m this ripped up on your behalf, I hate to think what I’m going to be like on my own.
My thoughts and prayers are with you.
I’m coming up on the 1st anniversary of my Grandmother’s death and I’m dreading it. And, just for the record – I’m sick of people giving advice on how to grieve. It looks different for everyone. What works for me may not work for you, and vice versa.
Anyway, I’m hoping you’re able to find some peace and do whatever it is you need to do to heal your heart.
That all sucks. When I feel bad, I turn to Zachariah and Snowy. You can partake if you want.
Don’t make me steal your Diet Coke!
I can’t remember which anniversary is worse…oh wait, I remember, they all suck. A lot. I kept my dad’s ashes so I think for the first anniversary, I pulled them out, hugged them, cried and talked to him (I still talk to him but less now that I’m married and someone else is in the house to hear me). I can’t offer anything good or constructive to do because I just tend to isolate myself from everyone and cry. It makes me feel better and I guess that’s all that matters.
Here’s me…not saying anything at all. And I hope you know what I’m saying.
-not saying anything at all-
I’m so sorry you are hurting-I so *get* the FB conundrum-hell, I just relinquished my account temporarily because I got so sick of everyone being so freakin’ happy! It doesn’t help that it’s January-the most depressing month of all. I’ve been there (my dad, too)-am there (not sure why!)-and hope to get out of there too! *Hugs* and *Wine*
Nessun maggior dolore che ricordarsi del tempo felice ne la miseria
–Dante
It’s like you baited me to talk even though you told me not to.
**Hugs**
If I could share every single post you write in Google Reader I would; but then no one would listen to me, it would be like those high school kids who higlight every single thing on the damn page so nothing stands out anymore at all.
But you are amazing, even in the depths.
I don’t envy you this anniversary. I’ve had far too many of them and, although they do get easier, I know that they’ll never be easy.
My heart goes out to you, Cookie. Even if it doesn’t help you right now, know that you are loved.
It’s one of the things lacking on the internet . . . the comforting silence of human companionship. Be well.