The cursor blinks on this electronic diary. It’s been seven months since my last visit. I gladly stayed far away from this blank white space. At my exit of the funeral home last March I had two things facing me, a life I had put on hold that now demanded my attention and a future forever changed. I decided to wake up every day and tackle that day with a fist full of vitamins and a Gratitude Journal.
The vitamins have worked wonders.
And, daily choosing joy with 10 simple gratitude’s has made the journey to this 7 month mark,
This visiting again,
In this white space,
It’s made it all possible.
I have amazing days.
Then there are the days when my heart feels like a melted puddle in my chest and I can’t clean it up. I wish I was nicer on those days. I wish I didn’t miss him so on those days. On those days, I wish the world would stop and feel my loss. But it’s a busy world. It doesn’t have time to stop for my broken heart.
I have days that start great, I’ll plan a normal event and I forgot that he had been a natural part of that normal. I don’t know why, at times, I forget my loss. When memory jolts me to the change… it’s hard.
The jolt is 100,000 wattage to the heart. And I’m standing in a once normal event and I want to run from my memory, my loss. I am proud to say I’ve learned to stand and face the future minus Dad, this new normal, and hold the tears. It’s not until later that I crash in a quiet room and sob.
I have learned the emotional release in a sigh. It gets me through the grocery store music that surfaces memories of childhood. Through the inside jokes that bubble so naturally to my lips, but zap my heart because it’s an inside joke to me alone now.
I’m dripping my tears and ragged heart for you here. I guess I could apologize for a sad post, but I won’t. I think there is too much hurt that life barrels right past. Too many times I’ve run right past you and your broken heart and I am sorry for that.
Repeatedly my gratitude’s in that aforementioned journal are for the people who see the red rimmed watery eyes and offer me a look…. the one of compassion and knowing. I am grateful for the understanding human who pats my shoulder in remembrance, offers words of encouragement. These nurses of pain pull me through the jolted moments. I appreciate them.
I don’t know what’s left your heart in a pulped mess but let me be that for you today. Let me offer you a ragged watery grin, a pat on the shoulder with a loving embrace. I know it hurts, I’m in there with you.
1444. Seeing a motorcycle like Dad’s and remembering how much he loved to ride.
1445. Going to Amazing Glaze and reminiscing with the lovely women there about Dad and his pottery painting antics.
1446. The Scroll Saw coming to my house because it seems Dad made sure EVERYONE knew he had bought that for me.
1447. When she drops two laundry baskets of his clothing, that smells like him, at my house and I remember Dad in those clothes and I can’t not cry.
1448. That The Boy wants to hunt, fish, carry a pocket knife and that he is the kindred spirit to his Papa.
1449. A younger brother with a video camera asking hard questions about grief and he interviews me with tears pouring and my tears are pouring and we nurse each other in our pain.
1450. A Backyard Birthday Party for one of Dad’s Grand babies and the water balloon fight would have been started by him. His antics were missed but his spirit hovered in the fun.