I am sitting here listening to The Carpenter's on my son's record player. They are my brother's records, and I am lost somewhere in time between the 70's and now. My heart is hurting, but not down and out-just split wide open. It hurts because there is fresh air hitting it, and I cannot identify this feeling. It also hurts because I lost something that I could never have in the first place- until it left.That is the fresh air hitting it.... it is all for such a good purpose, but such an indescribable pain, I could not and would not have had it here, ever in this lifetime with my dad. We just didn't connect very often in that way. We had our moments, but I had my expectations.... and he had his.We both were sorely disappointed and fell short.
The thing about being a writer like any other creative.... it is how we express ourselves. It doesn't stop when someone dies or tragedy strikes, at least it kicks in for me even more. I write more when I am severely bummed out. Never was one of those happy writers. I could write for hours about the endless oceans waves of darkness and abyss rolling me out to sea. My hubby will laugh heartily about that. I think he has memorized that charmer. Even in my darkest hours, he would quote me on the abyss of my soul. I have many of those stories handwritten in a box.
I am no longer at that stage of the abyss, I am just realizing life's interesting timing. Anyone who has sat with someone who is in the the hospital or ill- sometimes time seems to take forever, when really it is just a couple of weeks. You are in this time warp and have no capacity to understand you can never get any of these moments back. I have heard it over and over- but I didn't understand it. It was tiring, confusing, doctors telling us one thing, a new crew telling us another. My dad was made of steel, outlasting everyone and everything. Even with poor health, he wasn't going anywhere.The doctors said it was a miracle he was alive at all. He nearly lost all his blood at home, then was brought into Emergency and had a heart attack ( which apparently was the least of his problems.)
Something profound is happening, I cannot put into words without making them sound garbled. I feel him in the purest form. No anger, no frustration, no disappointment, just love. Something I never fully experienced while he was living - in this form.
I knew he loved me, in his way. He carried so much pain, physical and emotional, that it was hard for him to reach out to anyone. He had his place in the kitchen, day after day, night after night.
The radio was his best friend.... the window with the curtain pulled back was his view of the world.
Every once in a blue moon he would venture out with his friend for coffee.
His world was the kitchen and his bedroom, where he slept in a chair the past four years - because he struggled breathing. He had been hooked up to oxygen the past ten years. I think had he been 'Joe Schmo' down the street my patience, compassion, so many things would have kicked in more, it did sporadically. Reading this after I have just written it- I would judge me as a terrible daughter. I can only speak the truth of what happened and what needs to heal. Depression that was never talked about ran so deep. I weep for him had he been helped, really loved through it he may have had a different life. Unfortunately I inherited those genes that were never "talked" about. Having to watch a father who could not move at times, completely paralyzed by anxiety, depression, life.
Pretending doesn't skip a beat in their house even with his passing, perhaps even more so now.This is where I am changing.... or the gift my dad is giving me now. Be myself all the way through. I am turning fifty one Saturday. When is enough - enough? I realize in many a household this dysfunction continues.... I have fought so hard to heal it in my own. I need to let it go in every part of my life.Talking about these unpopular things that we have had to keep in the dark, such as depression. Why do you think people stay depressed - staying in the dark.
The only way I have found to heal.... telling the truth. Feeling my feelings.
Allowing my pain to come out, as well as my joy. Letting go of what was never mine.
Filling up the well. Letting love in. Not complicated stuff. Maybe that is why I feel my dad around me right now so much- the best birthday gift to me. What I have always wanted. His love.
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