Tough Love, Gentle Love, and everything in between...

Hi All,

Today is Wednesday. I write this as I sit staring at my half cleaned house, my phone next to me awaiting a call back, and my cat asleep in the sunny but dusty sunroom. I think, I should not be writing and then I keep writing because I need to get some stuff out of my head and into the light--however dusty it is.

As I have written before I have been pretty strung out on trying to figure out how to begin to care for my Dad. I know many many people go thru this and worse and so I feel not alone in this process but also not completely connected. I find myself wanting to scream sometimes out at the universe about how life is unfair, about how the economy sucks, about how hard my Dad has worked and how sick it is that his house has lost value not gained it--as he had planned. I think about how hard it is for him to accept help and how conditioned he has been to believe that needing help makes him weak. I want to tell him that we all need help sometimes but I don't. My words get stuck in my throat.

I look at him. So sad. So depressed. So seemingly hopeless. I want to cry for him and for me. For his suffering. For my suffering. I want to cry for the dreamy, happy, simple life that he planned for and assumed was his birthright. I want to cry for the entitlement, insensitivity, and rigidness of his thinking. I want to cry for the mental illness that causes him so much shame and renders him incapable of being the person that I remember as so capable--as so strong. I want to cry, but I dont.

I make phone calls. I try to look at the bright side. I sometimes do actually look at the bright side. I see physical health. I see life and family and love. I see abundance that is not financial. I think about how what we see determines everything. I think more about what I choose to see and what I leave out.

I go to meetings. I sit and listen to sober people getting thru it. I think of us all trudging along. Trying. I think how we are all on plan B at some point and what that means for each of us. I think none of us really planned for this--whatever it is. This life--the surprises (good and not so good), the pain, the joy in unexpected places, the love in unexpected places. I try.

I come home at night tired, hopeful, confused, determined--wondering how will this turn out? My Mom told me that the other day my Dad said this to her...that he was confused about where he would be? About how he would be? It made me a little sad, until I realized maybe we're all a little confused about that. We need faith, family, friends, and love. We need to remind each other that we are all in this together...a little uncertain, a little scared, but not alone. xxK

Love

Hi Friends,

Tuesday night. The last week has been really hectic. My Dad is in the hospital and (once again) I feel totally powerless and stuck in fear. I have been talking about it as much as I can but I admit that is not that much. I hate talking about it because I hate thinking about it. I want to pretend it is not happening but the truth is that cant. I try to pretend by sleeping or eating or not sleeping or not eating or wasting time on facebook or pinterest or even reading bad book but it is always there. My pain is always with me. My sadness is with me. My fear is with me. I spend so much energy trying to push it down and I only end up tired.

Last night I sat at a meeting and talked about Scotch. I was not a huge Scotch drinker but I oddly seem to equate this particular drink with total and pure annihilation and therefore seem to think of it when I want that. So there is my Scotch idea, picture, dream lingering in my head. I drive home considering how much work I do to not have this idea and yet, here it is. I quickly establish this is not a good thought. I pick up cell phone. I put down cell phone. I put on radio. I drive. I drive home thinking about why I am not calling anyone. I think about why I am thinking about a drink. I am sure of this one. I am thinking about a drink bc I am a recovering alcoholic who is scared and sad. That was simple.

I drive home. I know I will not have a Scotch, buy a Scotch, or even get close enough to one to smell it. Not today and hopefully not tomorrow either. I know there is no solace for me there, not really. I know that the simple solution I crave, the escape, the instantly better, the no more pain, the everything feels fine moment is one giant mirage for me. A mirage that leads me to pain, loneliness, shame, and a bottomless pit of self loathing. I know this all.

I think about how I need conscious contact with a higher power. I need a spiritual solution. I look at nature. I look at my kids. I think higher power. I feel not that much of anything. I talk to my sponsor later that night...I say I cant feel conscious contact and I am scared or I do feel it but not enough, not the way that I should, not the way that I want to feel it. I want to feel so much God or Higher Power that I dont feel anything else. I want a God binge. I dont think it works this way.

My Sponsor says that Faith is believing even when you dont feel it. It is remembering that you have and hanging on. I think this makes sense. It is anticlimatic but it makes sense. I have faith. I believe. I know I will feel again. I know my kids break thru my sadness. I know their smell and hair and skin is like my own special religion. I kneel down before them, before this warm house full of food, before this life full of love and sadness too. I kneel down and pray for an open heart, for love, for acceptance, for compassion--not just for me, but for you too. xxK