It's been a while since I've blogged. It's not for lack of things to say--it's just that I haven't felt like it. Many times I've sat down at the computer and thought I would post, but then the motivation quickly left. That seems to be par for the course right now. Lack of motivation. I find myself starting many "projects" and not finishing any of them. I can't seem to concentrate like I could before. I find that I'm more forgetful and my brain doesn't function like it used to. I still feel like I'm trying to find my way through the fog.
It's only been a month since Dad passed away. What's strange is that it feels like it's been a long time. The night I sat by his bed and was able to steal away some precious moments with him seems like it was a lifetime ago. Now, I wish I would have sat with him longer. People say with time it gets easier. I don't feel one step closer to things being "easier" than I felt a month ago and yet there are times that I don't feel like this happened to me---that I watched it happen to someone else. I guess that's the "self preservation" kicking in and not allowing me to experience too much pain all at once.
There have been so many events that keep knocking the scab off the wound. His birthday, Thanksgiving, (although it was so nice having Dianne with us), and then this past Thursday the funeral home had it's annual Holiday Remembrance service. It was one month to the day that Dad passed away. I felt like it was too soon to go back there, but Mom wanted to go, so we (her kids) joined her. That was hard. The speaker was good, but he had the workers pass out gold plastic forks with white ribbon tied around them and gave an illustration of "keeping your forks, for the best was yet to come" (meaning dessert after a meal) and the parallel of seeing our loved ones in heaven would be the "best to come". Hmmm...nice concept, but not there yet. My thoughts are not consumed with anxiously anticipating a reunion in heaven, they are consumed with grieving the loss of my Dad here on earth.
One night during the Thanksgiving break, my mom gave me a small book she had picked up at Hallmark entitled "Good Grief". I read it in a little over an hour, along with a box of tissue. It talked about the stages of grief and described 10 stages one might be experiencing. There are days when I feel like I experience all 10 in one day. The author described the grief process as being different for everyone and some move through the stages and there are others that experience them all at different times and in no particular order...but there is no "right" and "wrong". I keep thinking that this should be getting easier, or I get frustrated with the fact that I can't seem to function as efficiently and diligently as I could before. I keep telling myself, "this too shall pass"...but it doesn't.
There are times when waves of sadness knock me off my feet. Moments when the undercurrent of sorrow is so strong I feel I can't come up for air. I pray for low tide. I can't withstand these waves that are overwhelming me. Then I see the beacon of light in the distance in the image of my dad in heaven, saying "sweetie heart, don't cry for me! I am healed. I am no longer in pain and I am in the presence of the Lord in the most glorious place that your earthly mind cannot even imagine it."
I know, Dad...you're right, but my "earthly" mind wants you here. And my "earthly" arms want to wrap around you and give you another hug and hold on tighter than I ever did before. And my "earthly" eyes want to see that smile and twinkle in your eyes just one more time. If I had it to do over, I would tell you I loved you more. I would hug you first---I would laugh longer at your silly jokes---I would have thanked you for everything you did for me, unselfishly and with such unconditional love like I've never known before. I hope you know this---I hope you hear my prayers.
I'm struggling to decorate for Christmas, which used to be the most exciting time of year for me. The simple things that brought me such joy before about this season, now seem to be daunting tasks that I will never finish. But that's okay. I keep telling myself that it's okay to have an ornament in one hand and a tissue in the other. I will try to focus on what means the most to me this season, my mom and family, my sweet and extremely supportive husband and wonderful son, and my dear friends. These are what I will cherish this year in a way that I never have before.
