Time

I remember sitting in a friend's kitchen in the week before Dad died.  It was 7:30p, she was making soup, we were drinking wine and eating something I had brought over (hummus and chips?  I can't remember now).  Her boyfriend was busy unpacking boxes of books and CDs and "albums" and other artifacts- they had been together more than eight years but just moved into a new apartment with more bedrooms and shoe closets and office space than one could imagine and a neat view of the park across the street.  The cat was still hiding under the bed in one of the offices.  Life was good, promising, exciting.  I felt that with them. 

I was sitting on a stool in the kitchen; that much I remember.  I had nothing and everything to say, and so did my friend.  Neither of us had been this close to death before.  To her credit, she readily admitted that she didn't know what to say, and I loved her for that.  I opened my mouth and didn't know what would come out.  Turns out, it was the most random, technical, boring stuff.  I had nothing to say about the hours I had spent by Dad's bedside that day; how I brought my yoga mat to practice while he slept; how the Hospice nurse came three different times to check on him.  I couldn't talk about how his breathing started and stopped; his eyes were closed but fluttered occasionally; how his body softened when I lay next to him.  Instead, my mind had gone numb and I could only think about the concrete stuff. 

"Now I know some of the answers that will be with me forever," I said.  "Dad died in Jun 2012.  Dad died when he was 87.  Dad died when I was 32 (it was 13 days before my birthday).  Dad died in June."  On that Thursday evening (Dad died five days later on Tuesday, June 19), I had some of the answers.  I never wanted to know these things.  But now they are with me forever.  It's been 59 days since June 19th, 2012.  Dad was 87.  I am now 33.  Somehow, time has passed.  I don't know how.  But still...I am not the same person I was (before).  Not in the slightest.  I have been through every emotion, sometimes in one day, one hour, one minute.  I have had panic attacks, cried in the grocery store, melted down at work, hyperventilated in a bar, had horrible nightmares, had peaceful dreams, had the best hugs from friends and co-workers, read the most touching cards, sent the most raw e-mails, struggled through grief therapy, read all the books, let go of more than I could have imagined. 

Dad with a doggie friend at
Three Crowns, December 2008

Today a dear friend lost her mother.  We first met four years ago at Dad's first assisted living facility and stayed in touch long after Dad got kicked out (for bad behavior- that's my Henry!).  Over the years we've shared drinks, e-mails, pictures, texts, hugs, tears.  I saw her yesterday and we both knew it was close.  Hours, the Hospice team said.  She was my last thought before I went to bed last night and my second thought after I woke up this morning (Dad is always my first). 

When I got her text this afternoon my heart dropped.  I was at  work but as soon as I had a break I retreated to my office for a few minutes and gave her a call.  Her voice, my voice, our words...it was all like a strange memory, I wanted to do everything,  I wanted to make it better, I had just been there 8 weeks ago.  There was nothing I could do.  We both knew that.  But we were on the phone together.  We talked.  She talked.  I listened.  She was heading out to take her sister back to the airport.  Was she okay to drive, I asked?  Her son would drive, she said- it was good practice.  We exchanged our love, promised to make plans to get together.  I gave her titles of two books that have helped me in the past two months.  She promised to look them up.  We hung up the phone. 

I finished my afternoon at work, went swimming.  Thought that today was August 17, 2012.  My friend would always remember it. 

Every day is a gift.  I want to do something every day to remember.  Today is Day 59, but is also the day that I went to a random art gallery opening by myself and wore a huge orange t-shirt at work celebrating our employee recognition initiatives.  Today is Friday.  As one of my residents and I yelled in the elevator, "Today is Friday!  Friday, fish day!  Is everybody happy?  Then I must say..."

But everybody is not happy, and I wish love and peace tonight to "everybody." 

Reminders

It's 9:34p on Friday night and I'm looking around the apartment.  I really should clean, or at least "straighten up," but instead all I want to do is Pigeon and Pyramid Pose and feel some actual sensation that I can handle, process, understand, compartmentalize. 

I look on the corner stool and there are the flowers that Maryhaven, Dad's nursing home for the last two years of his life, sent after he died.  It's been 52 days since that morning in late June and the flowers are wilted.  Still, I can't bear to throw them away. 
My eyes fall to the floor under the standing lamp, where the book "Living After a Loved One Has Died" landed after I threw it there in frustration one night. 

Over on the desk stand 25+ sympathy cards from friends and coworkers...I have taken great care in opening them on the most difficult nights and there are still two more that I haven't opened yet...but I am saving them because I am scared for the day when the cards stop coming. 

On the bedside table sits "Healing After Loss- Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief," a book my dear friend gave me for my birthday 13 days after Dad died.  She thought it was a somewhat strange birthday gift but the daily readings and validations have proved invaluable for me over the past 7 weeks. 

Poking out of the recycling is the program from a reception I went to at Midwest Hospice last night.  I would have not  been able to make it through the past two and a half years without their incredible care and support...and Dad certainly had a vastly improved quality of life because of them. 

On top of the stack of papers "to be filed" is a large envelope from The Cremation Society of Illinois.  I am reminded that I still haven't picked up his ashes from the office in Park Ridge.  I will soon.  Seriously.  I just haven't...had time...or I don't want to.  But I can't stand to have them stay there either...

I open the fridge and there is the hummus I bought at the Trader Joe's across the street from Maryhaven for dinner while I sat with Dad during his last night.  It's half empty and probably moldy but I can't bear to throw it away. 

I get a text message from a coworker.  I remember how she came out to sit with us twice during the five days Dad was dying...she had never met him before but knew him through my stories.  She was there, present, giving, willing to Be with us at the most difficult time. 

I am tired.  My boss is on vacation this week and I snuck away for a yoga class during my lunch break today, which was cathartic but also made me Feel.  Now, nine hours later, I am emotionally drained.  I miss him now.  Earlier today a friend texted that she is having dinner with her father, who lives out of state and is back in town for the weekend.  I am happy for her, but a teensy bit jealous.  Yesterday I helped a friend and his family move his grandmother into a local independent living facility- being with the family made me happy, but a teensy bit jealous. 

I haven't canceled plans since Tuesday, and I even went on a date this week.  I've gone out every night since Tuesday.  I have distractions.  But still.  I miss my father so much, all the time.  The reminders are everywhere, and even if they weren't around they would still be top of mind.

Wednesday

Random musings:

43 days.  How has the time passed since Dad died?  I don't remember any of it.

I should really go to the beach. 

10 hours of sleep isn't nearly enough. 

The phone is ringing. I don't answer it. My Super Mario Brothers ringtone makes me smile.

Maybe I'll stay in bed.  All day.  Yoga would make me feel so much better.  Get up and go to yoga!!

No really.  Get up. 

Like, now. 

Riding my bike makes me happy. 

Again, with the tears in yoga.  Woman next to me:  "We did a lot of heart openers, it's understandable."  Me:  "My father died a few weeks ago."  Woman:  Blank stare. 

The pool is my sanctuary.  Underwater I am free...safe.  I don't want to get out. 

Lane: "I have the same bike.  No, seriously."  Of course he has the same bike. 

I should really go to the Botanic Gardens. 

Me: "It's strange because I don't feel alone...or lonely.  I feel loved...and supported.  But the loss...this one, specific loss...it hurts so much.  It's taking over everything."

The Olympics are still on? 

I should really get back to online dating. 

Someone should invent kalamata olive ice cream.  The best of both worlds. 

Woman in yoga: "Take care of yourself.".  Text message from friend: "Take care!" 

Alyssa:  "So I got a text this morning from my friend who lives in Disney World..."

Not sure if I've smiled yet today. 

I should really eat something. 

Tylenol PM doesn't count on the FSA card?  It's doctor prescribed...

Just realized it's August 1st.  Hahahaha.  I don't remember anything about summer. 

Rebecca:  "Let (the tears) come."

Brandon Priestly is doing commercials for Old Navy?  Yikes. 

It's only 7p?  Yikes. 

Sangria. 

Muddy Waters Pandora. 

I wish I started my laundry before 9p.

Jimi. 

Revisiting Bodeans' "Lullaby," heard earlier today: "Goodnight, my sweet little one.  Go to sleep now, your day is done.  Dream about how good it's been...and tomorrow, let's do it again....if I die before you wake, you were worth the chance to take." 

Yes.  Take the chance.  No matter how much it hurts.