A Visit with Mom and Dad

Today was a rough one.  It's a day I've been sort of subconsciously avoiding for a long time, but I knew it needed to be done.  My schedule, for some reason, was completely open today.  I took that as a sign that I needed to make this happen.  So, I worked up the energy to make it happen today.  Last night I fought off anxiety.  This morning, I fought off the urge to just go back to bed.  But then I got up, got ready, got in my car and drove north (after a coffee stop with friends, which was the highlight of my day :) ).

After coffee, I had two stops to make.  The cemetery to see dad's name on the niche for the first time and then to Chase Bank in Arlington to open mom and dad's safe deposit box.  Arlington is a drive and combined with the emotions of it all, it took a lot to muster up the strength to will myself to go forward.

But I did it.  I drove.  It was gorgeous out today.  When I got to the cemetery, I stopped at the end of the pathway that leads to their niche, I took in the beauty of this place that has always brought me a sense of comfort.  And I took this picture. 

And a deep breath.  

And then I walked. 

As I got closer and closer, I could see both names and soon dad's became clear.  As I reached their niche, I put my hands on his name and dropped to my knees and sobbed.  

{In the interest of full transparency, I just walked away from my computer after typing the above sentence and poured myself a glass of wine while the tears started flowing again.}  

So many emotions flooded me at that moment.  Seeing how fresh my dad's name was and how much mom's has faded over the past 6 1/2 years was profound for me.  It made me sad.  And then I sat there and looked at those two names together and a surprising wave of peace washed over me.  They're together again.  Things are complete.  Final.  Closure.  They're both gone.  I'm parent-less.  And in some ways, it's still shocking.  And in others, there is a pure sense of peace.  I expected the hurt.  I expected the tears.  I didn't expect the peace.  It was a welcome surprise.

I stayed for a bit and then headed north to Arlington to the Chase Bank branch where they have the safe deposit box.  It's pretty much the last thing I need to do on my to-do list since dad died.  But I've been putting it off.  I haven't been to Arlington since we sold my dad's house in August of 2013.  The drive up contained waves of emotion. I decided at the last minute to swing by their old house just to see how it's doing.  

 It's been well cared-for and that was nice to see.  It would make mom happy.  :)

So, then on to the bank.  Although, I have wanted to get this last thing done and NEED to get it done to move forward, it's still the LAST thing.  All that's left to do after that is grieve.  But I'm ready to grieve.  I NEED to grieve.  So I was ready to get this all done.  I had called the bank to make sure I had everything I needed so I was expecting a pretty easy, albeit, potentially emotional process.  I don't think there's anything in that safe deposit box of any significance.  I'm just expecting a marriage license or social security cards or something like that.  Michael and I joked that there might just be a lot of gum (in case of the apocalypse ;) ).  

Notice, I say that I still don't know what's in that box?  Because I don't.  Because they wouldn't let me in.  Even after explaining that I spoke to someone who told me what to bring.  I had a death certificate, dad's will, a small estate affidavit, BOTH keys, a bank statement and my ID.  What I didn't have was mom's death certificate.  And Chase's corporate legal department would NOT budge on that, even though dad's death certificate states "widowed".  The gal at the branch did go to bat for me.  I will say that.  But she has a job to do and she knew there was no use arguing with corporate.  So, there I sat, at almost 47 years old, and completely raw.  And I started to cry.  The tears wouldn't stop.  The gal at the desk grabbed me kleenex and told me to sit and cry as long as I wanted.  So I did.  And then I thanked her, told her quite loudly that I cannot stand Chase bank (just to make myself be heard), packed up all my papers, and went and sat in my car and let the tears flow.  

There's no way to make it pretty.  I was a wreck.  It felt like months of grief and anxiety flowing out of me.  And pain.  Some serious pain.

I went to Target to use the bathroom before the long drive home and I'm pretty sure I looked like an addict.  I'm surprised someone didn't follow me out and ask me to empty my pockets.

I NEEDED that safe deposit box done today.  And it's still not done.  And I put 200 miles on my car (and sat in a lot of traffic) for nothing.  Except a lot of tears.  And I could have done the tears at home.  

So, here I sit tonight.  I'm not going to lie.  I'm hurting.  I can't adequately express what the last 4 months (tomorrow) have been like for me.  But what I do know is that I would like to start moving forward.  But my body isn't ready.  I am TIRED.  So tired.  I don't know that I've ever felt like this.  I want to move it, to work out, to start dropping some of this weight I'm carrying.  But my body just keeps saying, "sit down, my friend, there's other work to be done."  The work of grief.  And I have to honor it.  

But I'll admit.  I'm fighting it.  I know I am.  Because it's scary.  And hard.  And I'm human...trapped in a grief counselor's body.  

Today was a HUGE step for me.  It felt like the BIGGEST step.  And the step I needed to make to move forward.  And it ending the way it did has rocked me today.  

I came home and ordered mom's death certificate.  And now I have to work up all the energy and figure out another time to make that 200 mile trek again.  

I know tomorrow is a new day.  I get to be at work.  Thank goodness for my work!  Dark and I still aren't friends so it wants to tell me stories right now.  But I'm trying not to listen and I know I'll move forward.  This will just be a part of the story some day.  But tonight.  Tonight I'm hurting.  And I don't like to hurt any more than the next person.  But I do know I need to feel it.  So, I will.  But it sucks for me as much as it does for everyone else.  

Today was a rough one.  Tomorrow will be better.  But tonight, I need to sit with today's events and let the feelings flow.  

136 Days

It's been 136 days since my dad went into the hospital.  I'm not keeping track.  I had to count.  But the reason I wanted to know is because, here, on February 16th, it feels like I am just starting to be able to take a step forward.  It's been a long Fall and Winter and I am exhausted.  My body feels tired and heavy.  So, I wanted to count and figure out what my life has looked like since that day my dad suddenly ended up in the hospital. 

So, here's the chronology:

October 3rd - 6th, 2015 - Dad spends 3 days in the hospital.  I am there for most of that stay.

October 6th, 2015 - October 24th, 2015 - Dad returns to his assisted living community.  I bring in 24/7 care because it's clear he's not recovering the way I had hoped.  What follows is 18 days of worrying and wondering and waiting and sitting vigil until dad dies on the 24th.

October 25th - October 31st, 2015 - 7 days of cleaning out dad's apartment, making arrangements for memorial service and having daily conversations with multiple people informing them of dad's death.

November 1st - November 14th, 2015 - 14 days of phone calling and e-mailing.  Closing accounts.  Talking to insurance companies, banks, etc.  Daily conversations with funeral home.  Dad's memorial service is held on the 14th.

November 15th - November 28th, 2015 - 13 days of continued conversations.  Dad's cemetery service is held the day after Thanksgiving (I don't even remember Thanksgiving).

November 29th - December 13th, 2015 - 15 days of semi-peace.  Life starts settling in.  Shock is wearing off.

December 13th, 2015 - January 10th, 2016 - 29 days of sickness at our house which included an ER trip for Christopher.  Christmas and New Years were illness field.  Which I guess gave a good distraction from the emotion of the holidays and dad's birthday.  

January 11th - January 30th, 2016 - 19 good days which included Christopher's birthday and a week of vacation to spend with my kids.  Life starts feeling back on track.

February 1st - February 14th, 2016 - I'm hit with round two of the cold from hell.  It hits me like a brick.  I'm a mess.  My body is shot.  

So, here we are today, February 16th.  Yesterday, I finally started feeling like the cold had passed and I was recovering. 

When I look back over the past 136 days, there are about 35 semi-decent days.  That leaves 101 that weren't all that great.  I hardly remember any of it though.  It's a blur of phone calls and e-mails and kleenex and doctors and supplements.  136 days.  That's a lot.  And it's also nothing. 

What I can tell you I haven't done in that time is grieve.  I thought I was grieving.  But I wasn't.  I was distracted.  And the grief was building up.  And based on conversations with my naturopath and my therapist, it's clear that this last round with the cold was my body's way of stopping the distraction.  It can't carry any more grief without some sort or release.  

On January 31st, I was up all night trying to figure out what was happening to me.  It felt like my heart was aching.  I was doubled over from the pain and pressure in my chest.  I am very much into the metaphysical aspects of physical illness and looking back, it seems so clear that my heart WAS aching.  It was begging to be heard.  

And the next day I was sick.  REALLY sick.

I have a great book that discusses this belief system I have in metaphysical causes of physical illness.  Some brief comments on the physical problems I was experiencing look like this:

Sore Throat: "Pain upon swallowing is the body's way of asking you outright, 'What person or situation can't you swallow?'.  Perhaps there is some specific emotional trauma that you are having difficulty in getting past or are simply unable to swallow...the outcome of a situation."

Lungs (chest congestion): "There is an underlying sadness, a feeling of being suffocated by someone or a situation that is keeping you from taking in the life force you need.  You may have a feeling of discomfort, as though you don't have enough room to maneuver in order to get out of the situation.  There may be a fear of suffering or death or of seeing someone else suffer or die."

Sinus stuff: "As air is a symbol of the life force and fundamental to life on a physical level, difficulty in taking in breath through the nose is directly linked with taking in life.  You tend to cut yourself off on a sensory level for fear of feeling your own suffering or the suffering of someone you love.  It will get you nowhere to tell yourself that you feel nothing in order to avoid facing a situation."

Cough: "Your body is telling you that your heart would like to see you more tolerant, especially toward yourself."

Common Cold" " A cold will often manifest as a result of congestion on a mental level, especially when there is so much going on in your head that you don't know which way to turn.  The onset of a cold is a message from the body that it's time for you to let go...."

You don't have to believe in all of the above, but that book rarely steers me wrong.  And the people I know who have purchased the book have a similar love/hate relationship with it.  We don't want to believe all it says, but it's almost so spot on, it's impossible to ignore the message.

So...today I'm feeling better.  I listened to my body these past two weeks.  I did a lot of self-care and worked on my mental health as well as my physical health.  I also got mad and annoyed and sick and tired of being sick and tired.  Sleep deprivation is just not a pretty thing. 

On Thursday night, I had an epiphany with my therapist.  It's not something I can figure out quickly, but it was an epiphany nonetheless.   

I'm ready for spring and for longer days.  The dark and I need to break up for a while.  I'll be prepared when it comes back next fall, but right now, I need daylight. It's coming.  I know this.  I feel it.  I'm ready to move forward.  

Slowly.

My instinct is to do everything at warp-speed.  I'm learning to slow down.  This is my season of life right now.  I don't have to run my way through it. 

I've been awfully hard on myself lately.  I'm carrying extra weight.  I feel weaker than I have in a long time.  I feel lazy which is NOT a normal feeling for me.  But I know it's not so much lazy as it simply is allowing my body and heart to rest.  It still feels like lazy though... 

But again, it's a season.  It won't always feel like this.  And I don't have to like it.  But I do have to honor it.  There are lessons to be learned here.  Big ones.  

So, it's time to move on to days 137 and beyond since my life turned upside down.  It is my hope that there are more good days than hard days to come.  I don't know that I can take many more hard days.  But, then again, I survived the last 101, I can probably survive more.  I've survived a lot actually.  I'm good at surviving.  I'd like to work on thriving.  

Here's to slow, baby steps.  

And self-care.  

And patience with myself.  

And maybe, just maybe, a little fun.  I miss fun.

Just as dark and I need to break up for a while, fun and I need to reconnect.

And it will all happen in time.  One little step after another.