Hi All,
Today is Wednesday and I am trying to prepare to go away for a few days. I guess it is a reflection of really who I am that I have to write as part of preparing to travel. Anyway, a lot to say and I apologize in advance if it does not come out as my most eloquent post. I've been so busy handling my father's house on the weekends that I've not really been able to reflect or even think. Some interesting things have happened lately though.
1) I got the furniture from his house and now it is in my house and contrary to what I predicted---this seems to be somehow healing. It is strange in the hows or whys? I realize that grief twists and turns and is unpredictable. Something I think will be fine is really hard. Things I think might be sad are not as bad as I thought. I am learning not to predict how I will feel and just try to be present. Sometimes being present is really hard. Not hard I cant do it but hard I don't want to. I want to hide from sadness or anger or confusion. I want to hide often.
2)Talking about it, to the right people, does help. Yesterday I was dealing with some work crisis stuff that was related to suicide and I ended up talking about my Dad to my colleague at the end of the day. I did this because I know that I get really triggered on this topic and I'm scared that if I hold it in then I'll end up messing myself up somehow. Anyway, I talked about it and really was struck by how I still carry around this sense of regret. Not guilt, but regret. There is a difference. I don't feel responsible but I do see how at some point I just gave up on "fixing" my Dad. I don't feel bad really about this as much as I see this as something that was inevitable for me. I reached a point where I felt I had nothing left to give. Where I felt empty and hurt and finished. It struck me yesterday that my Dad and I reached this point at the same exact time. I don't know what to say about that exactly other than it is a sad thing to realize. My colleague was saying to me "it was not your job to fix him" and she is right and I know this. My head knows this. My heart breaks on this still. I feel in my heart that it
was not about fixing--I knew that then and I know it now--it was about something else. Some nebulous thing that had been done and could not be undone. History. Destiny. Illness. The hardest part continues to be acknowledging my own powerlessness to protect the people I love from a harm I see coming from years away. It is not my job to see it or to change it. And so a tiny part of me wishes I hadn't seen it at all. Like a train wreck you see coming and have to stand and watch. The powerlessness is the thing to be reckoned with. The powerlessness brings me to my knees over and over. Fills me with fear. And, I guess, ultimately leads me back to a higher power for guidance, strength, and refuge.
3)The water. Since my Dad's death I seem to have a mixed relationship with water. My Dad jumped off of a bridge into water and he drowned. I wish I could say that I don't think about this but I do. I think about drowning--(not about me drowning but about him) . I try not to and then I give up and just do. I like to run near the water but I still cry when I see it. I still have visceral reactions to bridges of all kinds and am trying to accept that too. I want to fight it so much and just be ok and pretend. Pretending just seems so much easier sometimes and then I realize pretending just makes the pain last longer and makes me feel disconnected and shitty. There is no hiding from this pain. It demands attention and respect. I see that. I get that. I need to feel this and move thru it. I guess I am just in it. I am in the thick of it. 6 months out with no shock or numbing left to hold onto and I am just floating along in a sea of sometimes better and sometimes worse and hoping at some point I'll bump into something that makes sense--I guess sometimes I do.
4)Love. And I am learning in a fundamental new way about love. I am learning that people show up for me in the only ways that they know how. It is not my job to figure this out or break it down. It is my job to accept the love that I receive in the multitude of ways that it is offered to me. My Dad, when he was healthy, offered me love in ways that I often felt critical of. It was not love in the form that I wanted. I had years of wanting my love to show up in a Brooks Brothers suit and take me to a Country Club where our name was recognized. I had years of wanting my love to show up in pain splattered jeans and take me to a studio where our name was recognized and respected. Wealth. Status. Art. I had years of wanting my Dad to be a different person than he was. I had versions in my head of other people's Dads and my ideal was a composite of this I guess. Recently I am starting to get it though--that the people in our lives--our family, real people, are not like characters in a book or movie. We know them in the ways that make us uncomfortable and have sharp edges and gaping holes. My job right now seems to be love the people in my life who are there now for who they really are and for how they show up for me. I love my husband for driving that crazy UHaul thru 8hours of roundtrip NJ traffic and packing and unpacking the things that have finally brought me peace. I love him for not being hungover or mean or unhealthy and for taking care of himself in a way that sometimes seems foreign to me. I love him for not letting me fall down into myself in the thousand ways that I imagine I could without him. I love my Mom for the million times she picks up the phone and listens to me be sad or ramble or be mad. I love her the most for always picking up the phone. It is hard to imagine something more fundamentally perfect then knowing your Mom will always pick up the phone. And I love my children easily for the ways that they are different--for how she didn't do her part in the play because of the crowd or because of her cat or because she just didn't want to. I love her fear and I love her courage. I love him for playing Tee Ball and trying so hard out on that field. I love how he cant throw yet but tries so hard anyway. I love his trains and how he plays with them in his own little imaginary world. I love these people right now for just who they are. Not for what I imagine or how they could be but for who they are right now.
I am learning that one thing. How to love these people.
xx
K
Today is Wednesday and I am trying to prepare to go away for a few days. I guess it is a reflection of really who I am that I have to write as part of preparing to travel. Anyway, a lot to say and I apologize in advance if it does not come out as my most eloquent post. I've been so busy handling my father's house on the weekends that I've not really been able to reflect or even think. Some interesting things have happened lately though.
1) I got the furniture from his house and now it is in my house and contrary to what I predicted---this seems to be somehow healing. It is strange in the hows or whys? I realize that grief twists and turns and is unpredictable. Something I think will be fine is really hard. Things I think might be sad are not as bad as I thought. I am learning not to predict how I will feel and just try to be present. Sometimes being present is really hard. Not hard I cant do it but hard I don't want to. I want to hide from sadness or anger or confusion. I want to hide often.
2)Talking about it, to the right people, does help. Yesterday I was dealing with some work crisis stuff that was related to suicide and I ended up talking about my Dad to my colleague at the end of the day. I did this because I know that I get really triggered on this topic and I'm scared that if I hold it in then I'll end up messing myself up somehow. Anyway, I talked about it and really was struck by how I still carry around this sense of regret. Not guilt, but regret. There is a difference. I don't feel responsible but I do see how at some point I just gave up on "fixing" my Dad. I don't feel bad really about this as much as I see this as something that was inevitable for me. I reached a point where I felt I had nothing left to give. Where I felt empty and hurt and finished. It struck me yesterday that my Dad and I reached this point at the same exact time. I don't know what to say about that exactly other than it is a sad thing to realize. My colleague was saying to me "it was not your job to fix him" and she is right and I know this. My head knows this. My heart breaks on this still. I feel in my heart that it
was not about fixing--I knew that then and I know it now--it was about something else. Some nebulous thing that had been done and could not be undone. History. Destiny. Illness. The hardest part continues to be acknowledging my own powerlessness to protect the people I love from a harm I see coming from years away. It is not my job to see it or to change it. And so a tiny part of me wishes I hadn't seen it at all. Like a train wreck you see coming and have to stand and watch. The powerlessness is the thing to be reckoned with. The powerlessness brings me to my knees over and over. Fills me with fear. And, I guess, ultimately leads me back to a higher power for guidance, strength, and refuge.
3)The water. Since my Dad's death I seem to have a mixed relationship with water. My Dad jumped off of a bridge into water and he drowned. I wish I could say that I don't think about this but I do. I think about drowning--(not about me drowning but about him) . I try not to and then I give up and just do. I like to run near the water but I still cry when I see it. I still have visceral reactions to bridges of all kinds and am trying to accept that too. I want to fight it so much and just be ok and pretend. Pretending just seems so much easier sometimes and then I realize pretending just makes the pain last longer and makes me feel disconnected and shitty. There is no hiding from this pain. It demands attention and respect. I see that. I get that. I need to feel this and move thru it. I guess I am just in it. I am in the thick of it. 6 months out with no shock or numbing left to hold onto and I am just floating along in a sea of sometimes better and sometimes worse and hoping at some point I'll bump into something that makes sense--I guess sometimes I do.
4)Love. And I am learning in a fundamental new way about love. I am learning that people show up for me in the only ways that they know how. It is not my job to figure this out or break it down. It is my job to accept the love that I receive in the multitude of ways that it is offered to me. My Dad, when he was healthy, offered me love in ways that I often felt critical of. It was not love in the form that I wanted. I had years of wanting my love to show up in a Brooks Brothers suit and take me to a Country Club where our name was recognized. I had years of wanting my love to show up in pain splattered jeans and take me to a studio where our name was recognized and respected. Wealth. Status. Art. I had years of wanting my Dad to be a different person than he was. I had versions in my head of other people's Dads and my ideal was a composite of this I guess. Recently I am starting to get it though--that the people in our lives--our family, real people, are not like characters in a book or movie. We know them in the ways that make us uncomfortable and have sharp edges and gaping holes. My job right now seems to be love the people in my life who are there now for who they really are and for how they show up for me. I love my husband for driving that crazy UHaul thru 8hours of roundtrip NJ traffic and packing and unpacking the things that have finally brought me peace. I love him for not being hungover or mean or unhealthy and for taking care of himself in a way that sometimes seems foreign to me. I love him for not letting me fall down into myself in the thousand ways that I imagine I could without him. I love my Mom for the million times she picks up the phone and listens to me be sad or ramble or be mad. I love her the most for always picking up the phone. It is hard to imagine something more fundamentally perfect then knowing your Mom will always pick up the phone. And I love my children easily for the ways that they are different--for how she didn't do her part in the play because of the crowd or because of her cat or because she just didn't want to. I love her fear and I love her courage. I love him for playing Tee Ball and trying so hard out on that field. I love how he cant throw yet but tries so hard anyway. I love his trains and how he plays with them in his own little imaginary world. I love these people right now for just who they are. Not for what I imagine or how they could be but for who they are right now.
I am learning that one thing. How to love these people.
xx
K
No comments:
Post a Comment