When a sailboat is on a choppy lake, the sails shift with the wind. They propel the boat ... push it, and make sure it stays afloat.
So since October 9, I've felt like my foundation isn't as sturdy and the wind, taken out of my sails. I've learned a lot, and now I'm stuck. Life is a balance of holding on and letting go, after all, and I don't want to let go. I have no choice, but I don't want to. Most days I daydream about him more than I live in reality. I talk to him. I listen to the voicemails he left me on my phone. Every day, I look at the Cabrera triple crown Detroit News article he stuck on my mirror in my bedroom that I'll never take down. For fucks sake, I won't even delete the nightly reminders for his medication on my phone. No way in Hell. Those annoying bells still make me feel connected. Now if that's not a "what the hell?!!" moment I don't know what is. ...
In the last two months, people have been overly kind, understanding (or tried), compassionate, quick to share empathies, and generous with their ears and shoulders. I'm appreciative. But I'm sick of talking about dad's departure. Sometimes I just want to pretend he's at home, coloring with Drew and that's as far away as he'll ever be.
Can I just say that this Holiday season is horrendous? I hate it. It was his favorite time of year. Every red bow, every Santa hat, every figurine that lights up and plays obnoxious music has pops written all over it. Dad would buy out Home Depot every year, I swear. The more lights, the more loud ass bell ringing and carol singing the better. Christmas at our Parklane house was like Bronner's on steroids.
I was reading this blog on Facebook the other day listing the top things that grieving people don't want to hear. I uttered a lot of "uh huhs" to myself. People mean well, they really do. But dear God, please stop saying "it'll get better" or "he's in a better place." I have news for you, it'll get better when I decide to let it and I'm not ready for that. This pain is excruciating but the crying is cleansing and it reminds me of the fact my dad cannot and will not ever be replaced in my life. There's that little bit of magic I always talk about. They don't make 'em like him. Next in line, there's no better place for my daddy to be than right here with his family. Indeed. I just wish I could hug him. You have no idea, pops. I just wish I could hug you.
The other night when Drew was practicing reading a bedtime story to me, she said that you told her you were proud of her. If you did, I'm begging you to stay with her. Those moments make her beam. She can't get enough.
As 2016 approaches, I'm quick to say good riddance 2015, you sucked ass. But I have this feeling of dread that I'm leaving him behind. Yea I know I'm not, don't say it. It's a feeling I have. Please don't correct my feelings. They're mine. Every day I power through gets farther away from when he was here. Seems absurd to be moving in the wrong direction like that.
Today I was moving my kitchen table over so I could fix my rug under it. I had a flashback of you standing there next to me and mom the last time we did it. You wanted to help so bad. But you were confused and just stood there. I got annoyed and said "dad, watch out!" You were startled, but you knew you couldn't help with whatever it is we were doing. So when I went back to that today, I sat next to my rug and broke down into a blubbering mess. Like the ugly, snotty cry kind of blubbering mess. DAMNIT, I hate this.
When I remember you, you're 65, healthy, tan, quick, sharp, hilarious; I could go on and on. I have to really struggle to remember the 85 year old with dementia and I'm grateful for that. Thank you for being the father you were. The man you were to my mother. To your family. To your friends. The imprint you left will forever be unmatched. The man I marry, if I find him, has some shoes to fill. May be close to impossible. By the way, since you're in with the big guy now, you can bring my soulmate to me anytime **wink wink**.
In closing I just want to put into words how lucky I am to have Drew, my mom, my family, and my closest friends. Without all of them, this would be even more unendurable, if that's possible. I'm grateful for every shoulder I've cried on (sorry about the makeup) and every ear I've burned up. I promise to be there for you when you need me.
Because the truth is, it takes a village to help us get through the rough parts.
We grow from the rough...
... and we learn to live anyway.
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