From the book On Grief and Grieving,"Empty feelings present themselves, and grief enters our lives on a deeper level, deeper than we ever imagined. This depressive stage feels as though it will last forever. It's important to understand that this depression is not a sign of mental illness. It is the appropriate response to a great loss. we withdraw from life, left in a fog of intense sadness, wondering, perhaps, if there is any point in going on alone. Why go on at all? Morning comes, but you don't care. A voice in your head says it is time to get out of bed, but you have no desire to do so. You may not even have a reason. Life feels pointless. To get out of bed may as well be climbing a mountain. You feel heavy and being upright takes something from you that you just don't have to give"
This is how I have been living for the past 8 months. The book says, "Invite your depression to pull up a chair with you in front of the fire, and sit with it, without looking for a way to escape. Allow the sadness and emptiness to cleanse you and help you explore your loss in its entirety. When you allow yourself to experience depression, it will leave as soon as it has served its purpose in your loss. As you grow stronger, it may return from time to time, but that is how grief works."
I can say, confidently, that depression has been about the only stage of grief that I've been feeling for 8 months. The five stages of grief include: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I believe I felt more denial leading up to him passing than I've felt since he's actually passed. Of course I have my moments- there were times in the beginning, it felt like he was still at the hospital. He'd been a frequent flier through the doors of Lutheran Hospital for so long- it just felt like he was there and we were going to visit him there. Then, days passed, and I began to feel like it was all just a nasty dream I can't force myself awake from. So I can say that for the most part, I know he's gone. Anger comes and goes. I'm angry that my mom is alone. I'm angry that other people get to continue making memories with their fathers. I get angry when we are forced to do things that we've never had to deal with before- like taking my car to be serviced without any guidance from my Dad. That was a hard trip- and I did more crying at Andy Mohr than I'd care to admit. Mom had to have a tree pulled from the yard because the roots were out of control. I got angry that she had to deal with that. I get angry that she has to make hard decisions without talking to Dad- the sale of his boat, his car, his posessions- all the fishing gear and tools- things that were so important to him. We want to pass on his legacy to those who knew him- so they can remember him doing some of the things he loved- but unfortunately, some people don't understand that intent. They don't take his possessions as treasured items from our loved one that is gone- they only see a boat, or a fishing pole, or a hammer. This makes us angry. And yes, I feel a lot of my anger is more frustration from depression than it is true anger- but some of it is real anger. It's just not fair.
Bargaining- I did that a lot before he was gone- "please just let him see me graduate." I said that a lot. I prayed hard for that. Of course, now- I feel like I should have prayed harder for other things- less selfish things. "Please let him not suffer." "Please let him go peacefully." "Please let him know how much he is loved and that he is not alone."
I think I'm years away from accepting that he's gone. Maybe one day, the depression will leave my body and I will feel at peace- but for now, I cry. I cry almost every day. I cry when I hear a song that he loved- and there are lots of songs that he loved. I cry when I see something that reminds me of him. I cry when I think of something that he did or something that we shared. I cry when I see pictures of him. I cry at Mom's house when I walk past his dresser and can still smell the lingering combination of bay rum and peppermint. I cry when I think that I'm forgetting his voice or his laugh. I cry when I see his handwriting- I loved his handwriting. I cry when I'm laughing- because I think about the fun I'm having- and because he isn't here- then I get sad. I cry sometimes at work- and a lot of times when I'm leaving work- because I can see that a family is hurting for their loved one or I can see their loved one fighting for their life. I cry because I know the pain they will feel and how much they will hurt. I cry when a patient is suddenly better and healed because they will leave the hospital- but my dad didn't get to leave the hospital. I get a lump in my throat when people ask me about organ donations and how transplants are done- because my Dad was an organ donor. I feel that lump again when I hear that someone was a recipient of a cornea or sclera transplant because I wonder if I'm looking at my Dad's eyes when I'm looking at them.
So much of this grief- how can I be truly living my life? I feel as though I'm disappointing him because I'm so sad. He was so happy. He loved living life. He loved helping people and saving lives. He loved talking to strangers and he had the best stories from all of his adventures. I'm only sad because I miss him so much. I hope there isn't disappointment or sadness where he is. I can almost feel him pushing me into every new day- as if to tell me "today it will get a little easier because I'm here with you."
Monday, June 5, 2017
Sunday, June 4, 2017
I think a change would do me good...
Well, 1,640 days have passed since my last post. I was waiting to hear about my application to vet-tech school. Dad was unsure about his health. Mom was being the glue that held us all together- per usual. Backing it up a bit- in April 2013, my dad became unresponsive after an exploratory treatment to a mystery disease that was slowly taking his mobility, his freedom, and his patience. He visited Cleveland clinic half a dozen times and the best they could come up with was "Mr. Castle Syndrome." He was a mystery to every specialist he saw. We heard a lot of what it wasn't, but nothing about what it was.
That May, I decided to take a leap of faith and end my job with the vet clinic- and begin to take my first steps toward becoming a nurse. In June, we were celebrating Father's Day and my dad received a call from the head of the neurology department at Cleveland. Myasthenia Gravis. The mystery illness plaguing Daddy had finally been put into a category. Neurological Auto-immune. His body was fighting a war with itself. The rest of the year was full of challenges- doctors appointments and hospital stays for Dad, lots of learning for Mom and I both. I was up to my eyeballs in math and science classes- something I had managed to completely avoid the first time around. I began the 16-month accelerated Bachelors program in August 2014. I completed the program in December 2015. I met some of the most amazing women during my time in schoo lthis program. Never had I leaned on people and pushed and motivated others. We all worked together and graduated together proudly.
I was working in a trauma, surgical, neuro unit as a tech while I finished my last two theology classes. I officially graduated in May 2016 and began studying for my nursing boards. I took them August 1, 2016 and shortly after learned that I had not passed. I was devastated but my Dad encouraged and motivated me in ways no one else could begin to understand. He was fighting a war against himself. Mom was right there next to him, providing him the best care that anyone could ask for. She was pushing him to keep going- he was troubled by the fact that he felt like a burden to everyone. I knew that no matter what, I had to keep going.
On August 23, I got a call- Dad had been taken to the ER by ambulance. He couldn't breathe and was very much in distress. He was intubated that day and remained in that sedated state for 5 days. Day in and out, Mom and I were by his side. He did improve- but little did we know- the war he was fighting so hard was slowly taking him from us.
In the early morning hours of September 27, I was on my way home from work. I tried to call Dad- as I did every day on my way home- but I got no answer. I tried at least 6 times to get through- but got his voice mail every time. I called my mom and let her know that I thought something was wrong. I had breakfast and went to bed, knowing that she had it under control. Two hours later, I got the call that changed my life. He was slipping away, I needed to get home- safely, but quickly.
I panicked. I became hysterical. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him- not that I ever could be- but I had so many things to ask him, so much more he needed to teach me. Memories began flashing before my eyes- him walking me to the bus stop on my first day of school, him watching me get pinned in my nursing school graduation ceremony. I'd never seen him so proud. So many things I knew he was going to miss- wishing me luck on my first day of my new nursing job, walking me down the aisle on my wedding day, holding his grandchild for the first time, traveling the world, fishing. I fell. Crying in my hands. How was I going to drive two hours if I couldn't even pack a suitcase? Jessica helped talk me through packing and it was decided that I would not pack the necessary "funeral clothes" until I knew for sure what was happening. She was amazing, offering to stop by and pick up anything I needed- if I needed her in Fort Wayne.
I called upon all my friends to help me and I got on the road. Alexandra, a friend of mine from nursing school, got me through the end of the trip- talking to me as I got into town. Praying with me, for me, for us. This was all unreal.
I got to the hospital and as soon as I saw him, I knew this was it. This was the day I was going to say goodbye to my father for the last time.
That May, I decided to take a leap of faith and end my job with the vet clinic- and begin to take my first steps toward becoming a nurse. In June, we were celebrating Father's Day and my dad received a call from the head of the neurology department at Cleveland. Myasthenia Gravis. The mystery illness plaguing Daddy had finally been put into a category. Neurological Auto-immune. His body was fighting a war with itself. The rest of the year was full of challenges- doctors appointments and hospital stays for Dad, lots of learning for Mom and I both. I was up to my eyeballs in math and science classes- something I had managed to completely avoid the first time around. I began the 16-month accelerated Bachelors program in August 2014. I completed the program in December 2015. I met some of the most amazing women during my time in schoo lthis program. Never had I leaned on people and pushed and motivated others. We all worked together and graduated together proudly.
I was working in a trauma, surgical, neuro unit as a tech while I finished my last two theology classes. I officially graduated in May 2016 and began studying for my nursing boards. I took them August 1, 2016 and shortly after learned that I had not passed. I was devastated but my Dad encouraged and motivated me in ways no one else could begin to understand. He was fighting a war against himself. Mom was right there next to him, providing him the best care that anyone could ask for. She was pushing him to keep going- he was troubled by the fact that he felt like a burden to everyone. I knew that no matter what, I had to keep going.
On August 23, I got a call- Dad had been taken to the ER by ambulance. He couldn't breathe and was very much in distress. He was intubated that day and remained in that sedated state for 5 days. Day in and out, Mom and I were by his side. He did improve- but little did we know- the war he was fighting so hard was slowly taking him from us.
In the early morning hours of September 27, I was on my way home from work. I tried to call Dad- as I did every day on my way home- but I got no answer. I tried at least 6 times to get through- but got his voice mail every time. I called my mom and let her know that I thought something was wrong. I had breakfast and went to bed, knowing that she had it under control. Two hours later, I got the call that changed my life. He was slipping away, I needed to get home- safely, but quickly.
I panicked. I became hysterical. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him- not that I ever could be- but I had so many things to ask him, so much more he needed to teach me. Memories began flashing before my eyes- him walking me to the bus stop on my first day of school, him watching me get pinned in my nursing school graduation ceremony. I'd never seen him so proud. So many things I knew he was going to miss- wishing me luck on my first day of my new nursing job, walking me down the aisle on my wedding day, holding his grandchild for the first time, traveling the world, fishing. I fell. Crying in my hands. How was I going to drive two hours if I couldn't even pack a suitcase? Jessica helped talk me through packing and it was decided that I would not pack the necessary "funeral clothes" until I knew for sure what was happening. She was amazing, offering to stop by and pick up anything I needed- if I needed her in Fort Wayne.
I called upon all my friends to help me and I got on the road. Alexandra, a friend of mine from nursing school, got me through the end of the trip- talking to me as I got into town. Praying with me, for me, for us. This was all unreal.
I got to the hospital and as soon as I saw him, I knew this was it. This was the day I was going to say goodbye to my father for the last time.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
I despise the unknown...
So... we're still waiting for answers. But really, when aren't we waiting in life? Waiting on the webpage to load, waiting on my phone to charge, waiting on a call back, waiting for the car to warm up, waiting on the server to bring the food... waiting, waiting, waiting. You get the point.
Right now, I'm waiting on Tigger- the kitty- to realize that I'm not her mother and she can stop licking me... I don't have fur, I don't need to be groomed- well, sometimes I just don't have time to shower- but licking my hand won't fix that. :)
Trying to decide what to do for the holidays. It's always a hard time- wasn't always this way, but as I've become an adult, things have gotten more and more difficult for me. I miss the way things were when I was a kid. Christmas Eve at Mom-Mom and Pop's house, a birthday celebration for Baby Jesus, complete with a mini-parade... my cousins and I all carried in the nativity set- and I thought I was big stuff when I was promoted from camel or Wise Man--- to Baby Jesus... little did I know, it was because all my cousins were getting older and were over it. Glad they continued to play along for a few years- but nonetheless... we would have angel food cake and peppermint ice cream- sing Happy Birthday, open a shit-ton of presents and then go home and wait for Santa. In the morning, we'd have my grandparents over for breakfast after I'd ransacked the tree- (they would usually bring me another gift or two- but only cause I was their favorite--- I mean, the youngest- I was the youngest, so therefore I was spoiled-- I mean, loved. I was loved- and I got more presents than everyone-- shhh, don't tell) We'd all get cleaned up and the three of us would go out to my Grandma and Grandpa Castle's house- where we'd meet up with my cousins and aunt/uncle out there- and this is where I hit the mother load, cause my Grandma would always ask for specific gifts- and I'd always get them- the other stuff... was just by chance (still is- LOVE YOU, MOM- but I never did get that puppy OR baby sister that I asked for)
Then Mom and Dad and I would come home, crash, and I'd go hog-wild with all my new stuff...
Now- it's not the same.
Mom and Dad and I do our own thing- we go to my aunt's house Christmas Eve, where we sit while they have their big Christmas as a family- with their grandkids, my cousins, and Aunt and Uncle. Not hating them- just hate feeling like we're intruding on their family traditions After that, we all fight sleep to stay awake for Midnight Mass, where my dad and I proceed to sob through most all the Christmas music- and when we're not sobbing, we're singing our asses off... cause it's Christmas and that's what we do- see who can get through the most verses- without the book. He wins always (honestly, who remembers all 25 verses to O'Come All Ye Faithful- besides my father??)
We then sleep in (cause we're all adults) we get into our stockings while my mom is getting breakfast ready, go into the living room, I still reek havoc on the living room cause I'm spoiled- then we eat breakfast, and start to get dinner ready- invite Uncle Vic down, watch some football or "A Christmas Story," take a nap, and be done with it.
I hate being a 32-year-old adult, alone on the holidays, alone without a man, without kids- I want to see the joy on children's faces when they think of Santa- and I want to see the joy on my parents' faces when they spoil grandchildren with presents---
With all this going on with my dad, I have to wonder- will I ever get to see this or will I be the single old lady with her crazy, half-retarded cats for my whole life?
Dad doesn't even want to put up a tree this year. Neither do I... bah, humbug.
Right now, I'm waiting on Tigger- the kitty- to realize that I'm not her mother and she can stop licking me... I don't have fur, I don't need to be groomed- well, sometimes I just don't have time to shower- but licking my hand won't fix that. :)
Trying to decide what to do for the holidays. It's always a hard time- wasn't always this way, but as I've become an adult, things have gotten more and more difficult for me. I miss the way things were when I was a kid. Christmas Eve at Mom-Mom and Pop's house, a birthday celebration for Baby Jesus, complete with a mini-parade... my cousins and I all carried in the nativity set- and I thought I was big stuff when I was promoted from camel or Wise Man--- to Baby Jesus... little did I know, it was because all my cousins were getting older and were over it. Glad they continued to play along for a few years- but nonetheless... we would have angel food cake and peppermint ice cream- sing Happy Birthday, open a shit-ton of presents and then go home and wait for Santa. In the morning, we'd have my grandparents over for breakfast after I'd ransacked the tree- (they would usually bring me another gift or two- but only cause I was their favorite--- I mean, the youngest- I was the youngest, so therefore I was spoiled-- I mean, loved. I was loved- and I got more presents than everyone-- shhh, don't tell) We'd all get cleaned up and the three of us would go out to my Grandma and Grandpa Castle's house- where we'd meet up with my cousins and aunt/uncle out there- and this is where I hit the mother load, cause my Grandma would always ask for specific gifts- and I'd always get them- the other stuff... was just by chance (still is- LOVE YOU, MOM- but I never did get that puppy OR baby sister that I asked for)
Then Mom and Dad and I would come home, crash, and I'd go hog-wild with all my new stuff...
Now- it's not the same.
Mom and Dad and I do our own thing- we go to my aunt's house Christmas Eve, where we sit while they have their big Christmas as a family- with their grandkids, my cousins, and Aunt and Uncle. Not hating them- just hate feeling like we're intruding on their family traditions After that, we all fight sleep to stay awake for Midnight Mass, where my dad and I proceed to sob through most all the Christmas music- and when we're not sobbing, we're singing our asses off... cause it's Christmas and that's what we do- see who can get through the most verses- without the book. He wins always (honestly, who remembers all 25 verses to O'Come All Ye Faithful- besides my father??)
We then sleep in (cause we're all adults) we get into our stockings while my mom is getting breakfast ready, go into the living room, I still reek havoc on the living room cause I'm spoiled- then we eat breakfast, and start to get dinner ready- invite Uncle Vic down, watch some football or "A Christmas Story," take a nap, and be done with it.
I hate being a 32-year-old adult, alone on the holidays, alone without a man, without kids- I want to see the joy on children's faces when they think of Santa- and I want to see the joy on my parents' faces when they spoil grandchildren with presents---
With all this going on with my dad, I have to wonder- will I ever get to see this or will I be the single old lady with her crazy, half-retarded cats for my whole life?
Dad doesn't even want to put up a tree this year. Neither do I... bah, humbug.
Monday, December 3, 2012
stress
Stress is coming at me in waves- I'm looking at life right now like "shit- what else do I want to do- so I don't have any regrets" I've got an interview with a vet tech school this week- I've come up with ideas for childrens books that I can write with my mom. I'm taking orders some crafts I've made and most important I'm spending as much time with my family as I can. It sucks that when something starts to rear its ugly head- things get serious.
My colitis is in full effect- and the skin on my fingers is flaking off like 2 week-old nail polish. I'm loosing so much hair, I'm about to order a wig- not kidding- I picked one out: Laine by Rene of Paris | Wigs.com - The Wig Experts
The ex emailed me... why, I have no idea- he asked me to call him; "hope all is well" (all IS well, asshole, I haven't had to worry a minute about what you're doing and how it will screw my life up) it's been over a year since I've spoken to him... notice I did not say "it was over a year since we spoke" I haven't called him. I know its one of two things... a) he's high and bored; or b) he's high, lonely and bored... either way, the phone is not ringing- not from my line anyway- I did pass his number along to my dad as soon as I got it. :) Just in case the idiot forgets to make a payment on his loan... Like Daddy to be able to give him a "friendly" reminder, since last time he "forgot" to make payments... Daddy gave him a "friendly" reminder and the asshole changed his number- cause that's what you do when you're white trash and have collectors calling you- you change your number instead of paying your bills- idiot.
Having some internal struggles this year- Christmas- always a difficult time for me and my Dad... miss the family- the way things used to be- before people passed away or moved out of state... like clockwork- it happens every year. We go to midnight mass. Dad clears his throat, gets ready- and sings all Christmas songs (every verse) without the hymnal. He non-verbally challenges me EVERY year to do the same, and I'm sorry- it's been exactly 12 months since I've heard all 15 verses to "O Come All Ye Faithful" and I get a little fuzzy... good thing I can fake it :) But he wins, every year. At some point, I end up running to the bathroom after we sing "Silent Night" because I've run out of kleenex that I've stolen from my mother, because, naturally- I don't have pockets. Every year, I look like an idiot, weeping, next to my dad who is trying to hold it together. It's a moment I'll never forget- and will probably be that much harder when he's not sitting next to me. I know this, because as the thought came into my head, the lump formed in my throat and I'm fighting tears. It's always funny- my mom will lean forward and give us the "mom-look" which translates in to "knock it off or Santa isn't coming" (cause that's how we roll- we still believe- we take turns filling stockings and still have gifts come "from Santa"- don't judge our traditions)
My dad doesn't want to put up a tree this year. Not because he can't- because numerous people have volunteered to come put it up for them- but because he doesn't want to. My mom thinks we'll put up the village this year, so we can all sit around the Department 56 Christmas village set up on a card-table in their house, and gaze at it on Christmas morning... yeah, not going to happen. They're getting a tree up... I'm going to do it. I refuse to have that as a memory- if that was the case, we should have gone to Mexico for Christmas- so there is no memory in Indiana- at all. I'd be fine with that. I've got my bags in my living room- I can pack a bag back up, lets go.
My colitis is in full effect- and the skin on my fingers is flaking off like 2 week-old nail polish. I'm loosing so much hair, I'm about to order a wig- not kidding- I picked one out: Laine by Rene of Paris | Wigs.com - The Wig Experts
The ex emailed me... why, I have no idea- he asked me to call him; "hope all is well" (all IS well, asshole, I haven't had to worry a minute about what you're doing and how it will screw my life up) it's been over a year since I've spoken to him... notice I did not say "it was over a year since we spoke" I haven't called him. I know its one of two things... a) he's high and bored; or b) he's high, lonely and bored... either way, the phone is not ringing- not from my line anyway- I did pass his number along to my dad as soon as I got it. :) Just in case the idiot forgets to make a payment on his loan... Like Daddy to be able to give him a "friendly" reminder, since last time he "forgot" to make payments... Daddy gave him a "friendly" reminder and the asshole changed his number- cause that's what you do when you're white trash and have collectors calling you- you change your number instead of paying your bills- idiot.
Having some internal struggles this year- Christmas- always a difficult time for me and my Dad... miss the family- the way things used to be- before people passed away or moved out of state... like clockwork- it happens every year. We go to midnight mass. Dad clears his throat, gets ready- and sings all Christmas songs (every verse) without the hymnal. He non-verbally challenges me EVERY year to do the same, and I'm sorry- it's been exactly 12 months since I've heard all 15 verses to "O Come All Ye Faithful" and I get a little fuzzy... good thing I can fake it :) But he wins, every year. At some point, I end up running to the bathroom after we sing "Silent Night" because I've run out of kleenex that I've stolen from my mother, because, naturally- I don't have pockets. Every year, I look like an idiot, weeping, next to my dad who is trying to hold it together. It's a moment I'll never forget- and will probably be that much harder when he's not sitting next to me. I know this, because as the thought came into my head, the lump formed in my throat and I'm fighting tears. It's always funny- my mom will lean forward and give us the "mom-look" which translates in to "knock it off or Santa isn't coming" (cause that's how we roll- we still believe- we take turns filling stockings and still have gifts come "from Santa"- don't judge our traditions)
My dad doesn't want to put up a tree this year. Not because he can't- because numerous people have volunteered to come put it up for them- but because he doesn't want to. My mom thinks we'll put up the village this year, so we can all sit around the Department 56 Christmas village set up on a card-table in their house, and gaze at it on Christmas morning... yeah, not going to happen. They're getting a tree up... I'm going to do it. I refuse to have that as a memory- if that was the case, we should have gone to Mexico for Christmas- so there is no memory in Indiana- at all. I'd be fine with that. I've got my bags in my living room- I can pack a bag back up, lets go.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Adoption
Tonight, I watched my recorded episode of Private Practice. It affected me in a great way.
Addison is talking with her mentor, Vivian. Vivian disclosed that she had a daughter when she was just 15, she was not allowed to hold her- and thought of her every day. She was forced to give the baby up for adoption. Vivian is dying of cancer, does not have time to find the child she selflessly gave up for adoption, and wants Addison to help her write a letter to her daughter- it was the most touching and beautiful scenes I've ever seen on TV. Cyndi Lauper's song "Time After Time" is being covered by a different artist and is playing in the background:
"To My Beloved Daughter,
In my mind, I call you Maxine, but the truth is, even though I gave birth to you, I do not know the name you answer to all of your life. I've spent hours listening for the sound of your voice, but I would not be able to pick you out of a crowd. I do not wish to burden you with the details of my pregnancy or the sadness I felt in loosing my right to parent you. I hope and pray that you never felt abandoned by me but I want you to know there was not one moment of one day or night that I did not think of you and feel love for you. Though I did not raise you in my heart, I was always there for you. You did not have one mother. You had two.
All of my love, Your other mother"
You see- as a child that was lovingly given up for adoption, I have two mothers, too. I have one that wished for me for years, and loved me before she even knew me. I have one that loved me so much, that she made such a selfless decision to give me a better life than she could have given to me. I've never been able to say thank you. I hope some day, I can say it, to both of them, at the same time. The love that I feel on a daily basis, is indescribable.
Addison is talking with her mentor, Vivian. Vivian disclosed that she had a daughter when she was just 15, she was not allowed to hold her- and thought of her every day. She was forced to give the baby up for adoption. Vivian is dying of cancer, does not have time to find the child she selflessly gave up for adoption, and wants Addison to help her write a letter to her daughter- it was the most touching and beautiful scenes I've ever seen on TV. Cyndi Lauper's song "Time After Time" is being covered by a different artist and is playing in the background:
"To My Beloved Daughter,
In my mind, I call you Maxine, but the truth is, even though I gave birth to you, I do not know the name you answer to all of your life. I've spent hours listening for the sound of your voice, but I would not be able to pick you out of a crowd. I do not wish to burden you with the details of my pregnancy or the sadness I felt in loosing my right to parent you. I hope and pray that you never felt abandoned by me but I want you to know there was not one moment of one day or night that I did not think of you and feel love for you. Though I did not raise you in my heart, I was always there for you. You did not have one mother. You had two.
All of my love, Your other mother"
You see- as a child that was lovingly given up for adoption, I have two mothers, too. I have one that wished for me for years, and loved me before she even knew me. I have one that loved me so much, that she made such a selfless decision to give me a better life than she could have given to me. I've never been able to say thank you. I hope some day, I can say it, to both of them, at the same time. The love that I feel on a daily basis, is indescribable.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Prayers
On Christmas Eve 2011, my mom, dad and I were walking into Midnight Mass. My dad tripped on the steps and I caught him. He'd been having some balance issues, but I made him promise that the first of the year, he'd get to his doctor to find out why he's having balance issues. In March, he called and made his appointment- and in May, my dad went to his doctor. Since then, there have been a series of CT scans, MRIs, ECGs, and blood work. My dad's been poked, prodded, and seen so many times, you'd think he was the subject of a medical study.
Balance issues have continued. Flash forward to two months ago... my daddy was working out 3 times a week. I was so proud of him that I even found a trainer. We've never been a "go-to-the-gym" kind of family. We like junk food, eating out, dessert, and naps. Diabetes reared its ugly head and we thought his balance was because of that- so he's been on a mission to control his blood sugar. He's lost weight, he's changed his diet, and he's started using the insulin pen.
Still no improvement. Balance issues have continued and progressed to the point that he cannot stand for long periods of time and looses his balance easily. His doctor gave him a suggestion- which would be a major blow to anyone- but to my dad- a man with the strongest pride, determination, and work ethic I've ever seen- being told that he should start to use a cane (at 64) was mind blowing.
Two weeks ago- he started using a cane.
Our family vacation has been planned for almost a year. First family vacation that I've taken with my parents as an adult. We figured out that we hadn't all flown together since our trip to Disney in 1992. My parents have discovered the beautiful, peaceful, and amazing land of Cabo San Lucas Mexico. They've vacationed down here several times- my dad has been in fishing tournaments. I finally managed to get an invitation.
Last Sunday, when we arrived at the airport in Indy, I saw my father swallow his pride, as he sat down into a wheelchair. It has been a necessity for our whole trip. Navigating through the airport, getting to our condo, going back and forth from the lobby to our room, and going to dinner- none of it would have been possible had we not had a wheelchair to borrow from the front desk.
As the vacation comes to an end, I've lost count of the number of times my dad has asked me if I'm having a good time and apologized to me for his immobility. It breaks my heart to see him struggle- but I've never been more proud of him. For 32 years he's helped me grow up into the woman that I am today. It's an honor to be able to put my arm into his and help him walk. I'd go through hell and back for my dad- I just hope we don't have to. Tuesday, my dad has an appointment with a spine surgeon. He's got an MRI of his spine scheduled. We've spent a lot of time worrying- but we spent more time together, as a family, having a great time. I will cherish these memories forever. I told my dad whatever he finds out- we'll get through it, together. I've got his back, always.
As we return to the states- I ask for good thoughts, prayers, and if anyone has a miracle laying around- I'll take it. My dad was supposed to give my mom dancing lessons for Christmas. He'd do anything to make good on that. I'm not ready to give up on him because he's never given up on me. We'll fight through anything together.
I love you, Dad.
Balance issues have continued. Flash forward to two months ago... my daddy was working out 3 times a week. I was so proud of him that I even found a trainer. We've never been a "go-to-the-gym" kind of family. We like junk food, eating out, dessert, and naps. Diabetes reared its ugly head and we thought his balance was because of that- so he's been on a mission to control his blood sugar. He's lost weight, he's changed his diet, and he's started using the insulin pen.
Still no improvement. Balance issues have continued and progressed to the point that he cannot stand for long periods of time and looses his balance easily. His doctor gave him a suggestion- which would be a major blow to anyone- but to my dad- a man with the strongest pride, determination, and work ethic I've ever seen- being told that he should start to use a cane (at 64) was mind blowing.
Two weeks ago- he started using a cane.
Our family vacation has been planned for almost a year. First family vacation that I've taken with my parents as an adult. We figured out that we hadn't all flown together since our trip to Disney in 1992. My parents have discovered the beautiful, peaceful, and amazing land of Cabo San Lucas Mexico. They've vacationed down here several times- my dad has been in fishing tournaments. I finally managed to get an invitation.
Last Sunday, when we arrived at the airport in Indy, I saw my father swallow his pride, as he sat down into a wheelchair. It has been a necessity for our whole trip. Navigating through the airport, getting to our condo, going back and forth from the lobby to our room, and going to dinner- none of it would have been possible had we not had a wheelchair to borrow from the front desk.
As the vacation comes to an end, I've lost count of the number of times my dad has asked me if I'm having a good time and apologized to me for his immobility. It breaks my heart to see him struggle- but I've never been more proud of him. For 32 years he's helped me grow up into the woman that I am today. It's an honor to be able to put my arm into his and help him walk. I'd go through hell and back for my dad- I just hope we don't have to. Tuesday, my dad has an appointment with a spine surgeon. He's got an MRI of his spine scheduled. We've spent a lot of time worrying- but we spent more time together, as a family, having a great time. I will cherish these memories forever. I told my dad whatever he finds out- we'll get through it, together. I've got his back, always.
As we return to the states- I ask for good thoughts, prayers, and if anyone has a miracle laying around- I'll take it. My dad was supposed to give my mom dancing lessons for Christmas. He'd do anything to make good on that. I'm not ready to give up on him because he's never given up on me. We'll fight through anything together.
I love you, Dad.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
1 year
So, it was my intention to post on my 1 year anniversary. Of course, life happened and I got busy, but nonetheless, I've made LOTS of progress in 365 grueling days!
I started (and stopped) therapy. I went for all the right reasons, and quit for the right reasons as well. I will never claim to be healed or perfect, but I was going to a couples counselor... the therapist was amazing- really knew what he was talking about- but the more and more I overcame both in private sessions and in group therapy, I realized that I was not in the right place. These women were going through divorces or were looking for help in their marriage. I was a single girl upset that my ex went crazy and broke my spirit... while it was necessary at the time, once I realized that I was feeling much better about my life- I began to look elsewhere for support. It came in the form of beautiful, smiling faces of girlfriends that had been in my life all along- supported me through ups and downs, and didn't charge $150/sitting.
Little by little, I started coming back out of the protective shell I'd created after 5 years of insanity. I was laughing- I was happy- I was slowly becoming myself again... (I missed me- I'm pretty amazing)
I have accepted the fact that the demise of my shitty relationship may have caused the demise of some friendships, but the friends that matter have stuck by my side through everything. I'm slowly realizing that negativity is contagious and cutting this from my life.
I have had good days, I have had lots of bad days, but I always wake up the next morning and think, "well, that sucked, but life isn't over, so lets give that another shot"
I enjoy my alone time, but I crave the company of someone I haven't yet found. I miss a lot of things about being in a relationship- but knowing that I'm ready to find that again gives me hope that someday, I'll find him. (sooner than later, I hope)
I have overcome a lot of intense inner-struggles. I hated myself when I looked in the mirror a year ago. I decided to do something about it. I've tried to take the reigns on weight-loss before, but have always failed. I lack consistency and follow-through. Thankfully with the help of a personal trainer which I met with once- I was able to turn the page to a much more fulfilling life.
I don't like what I see in the mirror right now, but I far from hate it. I pick myself apart- but I'm much happier with what I'm becoming. I am noticing changes- my arms are getting massively saggy (I may be able to fly if I move them fast enough) but I see muscle under the sag- and it makes me push through the disappointment of having the sag to begin with.
My most self-conscious area- the bulge below my stomach- has gotten significantly smaller- though still present- I don't see that first when I look at myself in the mirror like I used to.
I'm disappointed to admit- but my boobs- have begun to shrink. I expected that if they were going to do it- they would have done it by now.. but its only been recently that I have noticed the gaping in my favorite bra.
All of these things can be fixed (with a personal finance loan and a surgeons knife) but I know and accept that if I hadn't have worked on what I am inside- I never would have ever liked what I became on the outside.
I went shopping not too long ago- and shocked myself! I have gone down 3 sizes! I knew that all my clothes were getting big- but it wasn't until I looked at and tried on dresses, that I realized the progress I've made. I've gotten a lot of clothes recently, from Old Navy- all on sale- because why buy a lot of clothes that (hopefully) won't fit in a few months...
It was so nice to see the hard work pay off when I don't have to get frustrated cause I can't get the jeans up over my thighs or my ass.
I went through my closet and shocked myself at the number of clothes that I will have to pack away (getting rid of them would be bad karma and I don't feel like jinxing myself). It felt good.
I have my first 2 rewards... First one came fast- a new pair of work-out shoes. Second one came very slow- but I am now the proud owner of a new Coach Purse! My first - EVER!
I have my new motivation- a pair of John Fluevog shoes... -22 to go until I get those... and my Mexico vacation has been planned- I will be rewarding myself a bit early for that one- according to SparkPeople.com- this goal is outrageous and unattainable- so I'll just make myself a promise- that it's an early gift... and continue to work hard until I reach that goal.
Next- after all of this work- I will begin to save for the surgery to complete my transformation.... I can't believe how much is possible with baby steps, a great support system, and well-deserved personal rewards.
I started (and stopped) therapy. I went for all the right reasons, and quit for the right reasons as well. I will never claim to be healed or perfect, but I was going to a couples counselor... the therapist was amazing- really knew what he was talking about- but the more and more I overcame both in private sessions and in group therapy, I realized that I was not in the right place. These women were going through divorces or were looking for help in their marriage. I was a single girl upset that my ex went crazy and broke my spirit... while it was necessary at the time, once I realized that I was feeling much better about my life- I began to look elsewhere for support. It came in the form of beautiful, smiling faces of girlfriends that had been in my life all along- supported me through ups and downs, and didn't charge $150/sitting.
Little by little, I started coming back out of the protective shell I'd created after 5 years of insanity. I was laughing- I was happy- I was slowly becoming myself again... (I missed me- I'm pretty amazing)
I have accepted the fact that the demise of my shitty relationship may have caused the demise of some friendships, but the friends that matter have stuck by my side through everything. I'm slowly realizing that negativity is contagious and cutting this from my life.
I have had good days, I have had lots of bad days, but I always wake up the next morning and think, "well, that sucked, but life isn't over, so lets give that another shot"
I enjoy my alone time, but I crave the company of someone I haven't yet found. I miss a lot of things about being in a relationship- but knowing that I'm ready to find that again gives me hope that someday, I'll find him. (sooner than later, I hope)
I have overcome a lot of intense inner-struggles. I hated myself when I looked in the mirror a year ago. I decided to do something about it. I've tried to take the reigns on weight-loss before, but have always failed. I lack consistency and follow-through. Thankfully with the help of a personal trainer which I met with once- I was able to turn the page to a much more fulfilling life.
I don't like what I see in the mirror right now, but I far from hate it. I pick myself apart- but I'm much happier with what I'm becoming. I am noticing changes- my arms are getting massively saggy (I may be able to fly if I move them fast enough) but I see muscle under the sag- and it makes me push through the disappointment of having the sag to begin with.
My most self-conscious area- the bulge below my stomach- has gotten significantly smaller- though still present- I don't see that first when I look at myself in the mirror like I used to.
I'm disappointed to admit- but my boobs- have begun to shrink. I expected that if they were going to do it- they would have done it by now.. but its only been recently that I have noticed the gaping in my favorite bra.
All of these things can be fixed (with a personal finance loan and a surgeons knife) but I know and accept that if I hadn't have worked on what I am inside- I never would have ever liked what I became on the outside.
I went shopping not too long ago- and shocked myself! I have gone down 3 sizes! I knew that all my clothes were getting big- but it wasn't until I looked at and tried on dresses, that I realized the progress I've made. I've gotten a lot of clothes recently, from Old Navy- all on sale- because why buy a lot of clothes that (hopefully) won't fit in a few months...
It was so nice to see the hard work pay off when I don't have to get frustrated cause I can't get the jeans up over my thighs or my ass.
I went through my closet and shocked myself at the number of clothes that I will have to pack away (getting rid of them would be bad karma and I don't feel like jinxing myself). It felt good.
I have my first 2 rewards... First one came fast- a new pair of work-out shoes. Second one came very slow- but I am now the proud owner of a new Coach Purse! My first - EVER!
I have my new motivation- a pair of John Fluevog shoes... -22 to go until I get those... and my Mexico vacation has been planned- I will be rewarding myself a bit early for that one- according to SparkPeople.com- this goal is outrageous and unattainable- so I'll just make myself a promise- that it's an early gift... and continue to work hard until I reach that goal.
Next- after all of this work- I will begin to save for the surgery to complete my transformation.... I can't believe how much is possible with baby steps, a great support system, and well-deserved personal rewards.
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