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. 

Instant friend, just add Nerf guns

 It was appointment day and Youngest dillydallied leaving the hospital. He wanted to say hi to his physical therapist down the hall and he wanted a drink of water and I was pretend sighing at him to hurry up. That was the day we met J. 

We met when his wheelchair nearly collided with ours. I chuckled while his parents scolded and apologized. J was leaving with a petrie cast. I poked Youngest and said, "Hey, you had one like that!" J launched into telling us he had Perthes Disease and just like that the two boys were fast friends. While the kids got to know each other I got to talk with other Perthes parents. We talked about school and wheelchairs and braces and how hard it is to tell an active kid to stop. I felt an instant connection to the parents while the kids were discussing their own instant connection. 

We exchanged phone numbers and met at the park. When we got together again at their house the boys had an intense Nerf gun battle while the moms sat and chatted. There was a three year age difference between them but the way they got on with each other you would never have guessed it. I've had countless requests of "When will we see J again? Can you call his mom?"

J was one of those people who never met a stranger. His smile and laugh were contagious. One day while out with my family we ran into their family. Once again the kids played and the adults chatted. When it was time to part ways J begged both sets of parents for Youngest to come home with them and stay the night. We hadn't talked about it in advance so I gave the typical parent hesitation. I didn't want my kid to impose if they had other plans. I didn't know how their family felt about sleepovers. His mom gave the same hesitation. J promptly told us that it was the same as having his cousins come for a sleepover and that Youngest was like his cousin. We ended by promising for parents to connect to plan out a time rather than something spontaneous.

That is a promise that was broken. Youngest would remind me and I would say I'd call J's mom and then would get busy with life and forget. Last week in a tragic turn of events J's life ended. I wish I'd called every singe time Youngest asked me to. I wish we would have made those sleepover plans. I wish I hadn't assumed there would be more time just because they were young. 

Today was his funeral. I've attended the funerals of too many children. It never gets easier, and it shouldn't. I think it actually gets harder with each funeral. He was a beautiful soul. He made the world a better place in his few years here. Hug your kids. Tell them how much you love them. Call your loved ones. Buy the potato salad. Make the chili. Show up to the functions. Be fully present. Because we aren't promised tomorrow.

When my time comes I hope I've made the kind of impact J did, that the memories of me are beautiful and comforting to those I leave behind.  

 

Endings

I have far too much to process. How funny it is that it is always in those times of overwhelm that someone reminds me I need to write. This time, that someone was Hubby and his persuasion that the world needs my voice. I don't know the world needs it but I do know writing helps me process my thoughts and emotions. I guess it is time to write again.

A month ago I was laid off from my job of eight years. I saw it coming but it still was hard. I told my work wife a month before it happened that I thought they would eliminate my position in September. She assured me that wouldn't be the case but I just felt it in my gut. I was wrong, it happened the end of July. It didn't go down well. They called me in on my last day of vacation to let me go. They let go of 11 of us and said it was due to COVID that they had to make some tough decisions to eliminate positions. But then I learned they were hiring five new people. They said it wasn't personal but it sure feels personal when someone is being hired to do the job you used to do.

It was time to move on. I knew that. I just wanted it to be on my terms. I spent eight years of my life pouring my heart and soul into a company that easily discarded me. I want to be excited about my next but I have to grieve the loss of my community first. I've spent the last several weeks just surviving. I've played way too many games on my phone and barely done anything else. Today I finally feel like the fog is lifting some. 

I miss my work friends dearly. They had become so much more than coworkers to me. We have supported each other through so much over the years. But I don't actually miss the job. I thought I would but I don't. I find myself relieved that I'm not the one answering the emails wondering why the organization, including the volunteer team, was restructured. I find myself relieved to no longer have to have the "work voice" that spoke for the company. I find myself relieved to no longer feel fractured. I find myself relieved to be able to be fully true to myself, something I haven't felt in a couple of years.

I am going to be ok. I am going to find my next. In the meantime, I'm going to stop avoiding the emotions and embrace all the feels. I'm going to sit with my discomfort. I'm going to find my voice again. 

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....