sunsets and sunrises

It's been two weeks. In that time I've tried to figure out how do I say my dad has died? How do I say those words without feeling like they are coming across as calloused? How do I process before I feel?

The feelings finally came and they came like a tsunami, crashing over me and leveling me. When my father in law died my grief came quickly and intensely. When my dad died the reality of his death and the subsequent torrent of emotion took nearly two weeks. Both of the men I've called dad are gone and it feels vulnerable. 

He'd call me his darling daughter Dawn. I would grin and reply by calling him my darling father Dad. When asked what he wanted for his birthday, Christmas, Father's Day he would respond with "a basket full of hundred dollar bills". One year I decided to give him his basket full of hundred dollar bills. I bought money designed wrapping paper and cut out each individual "bill" and put them in a basket. He laughed so hard. It remains to this day my second favorite gift I ever gave him.

If you asked him how he was he'd say "finer than frog's hair." I'd giggle and tell him frogs didn't have hair. Eventually he moved on to saying "never been better." That was how he became known to friends and strangers alike. His gravestone will even include the words never been better. 

When I was a teenager, a traumatic event rocked my world. I pushed through and buried my emotions until they spilled over and I just couldn't push through anymore. My dad knew I had reached my breaking point. He called me out from school and took me to the arcade to blow off steam. I don't remember what I played or what we had for lunch that day or what we talked about or even if we talked at all. What I remember is how I felt. I felt seen and protected and loved. That day recharged my emotional tank and gave me the strength to keep pushing through the situation. 

When I was little and I'd have a nightmare, it was my dad who held me. He'd let me fall asleep on his chest and carry me back to bed. During baseball season my grandpa would come over and sit in the chair and my dad would lay on the couch; I'd lay next to my dad, squishing him terribly but he never complained, and I would fall asleep with the sound of his heartbeat in one ear and the sound of the Cardinals game in the other ear. 

Listening to his heartbeat was comforting. The sound of my daddy's heartbeat always brought my anxiety down. It was like in those moments I could believe everything would end up ok no matter how chaotic it was at the time. And now, the heartbeat of my dad, the most comforting sound of my childhood has stopped.

Dad, I love you. I'm glad I got to video chat with you shortly before you left. Until we meet again, my darling father Dad. 

Did my muse die?

Recently my husband has asked me why I stopped writing. I tried to think of a reason and I can't think of a good one. My father in law died two years ago and I think my muse died with him. It's not that he was my muse, it's just that the grief that came with losing the man who had been my second dad for twenty years took all the creative thought out of me.

I guess I wasn't ready to share my heart. I didn't even realize that the last time I wrote was just before he died. See in the last three years I've lost two of the dearest people I've ever loved and I have not had words to describe my heartbreak or even my basic day to day life. So I stopped. I stopped writing. I stopped journaling. I shared little and what I shared was in spoken words not written words. I shared in a way that I could always control who heard my words and I guarded them greatly.  How do I move on from that? How do I put words out there for the world again?

Crying in front of my kids

While all the good writers are journaling, I'm blogging instead. Mostly because my favorite journal has been taken hostage and I don't negotiate with terrorists. Or it's fallen behind my headboard to the land of lost items.  You know, whatever.

I cried in front of my children tonight, even the peace loving "fixer" who hates when I'm upset. I cried because life hurts today. My friend's husband died a couple of days ago and tonight was the public visitation. I cannot make it to the funeral so I wanted to be sure to make it to the visitation to give my condolences in person.

This man leaves a widow and three daughters aged 11-17. My son stole his first kiss from one of those girls when they were 3. Her daddy stopped me and in his deep voice and intimidating police officer posture says "We need to talk. There's a rumor that your son kissed my little girl." He even told my son no kissing his daughter. It's a story that lives in memory and in often retelling in our home.

I hugged my friend tight. I told her I love her. I gave my condolences. I listened as she told me about his last moments when he said he could see Jesus and grandma waiting for him. I hugged her daughter. I viewed the shell of a once great man and fought the tears back.

I made it home with the tears in check. But when I walked in they began flowing freely. I curled up next to Hubby and sobbed. My boys came and hugged me and asked if I was ok. I was honest. No, I'm sad and overwhelmed. My friend's husband died and my heart hurts. I still believe God is good even when life isn't which is good because right now life doesn't feel very good.

They hugged me tightly and then returned to movie watching. I don't regret them seeing me cry even though it made one rather uncomfortable. They need to see that sometimes life hurts and that's ok. They need to know that I can ache inside and still trust that God is good.  And they need to see that death is part of living and it's ok to grieve when death intersects with our lives.

Now if I could only find that journal....