That Darned Dickens and Why Something Positive was the Last Straw

After a humdinger of a weekend, I am left completely without wits. This perfect storm of events  almost got me drinking. No, not really. Still fully alcohol free. Let's just say I verbalized that it would be easier to be numb than to feel the depth of pain I was experiencing.  Well, wouldn't you ask for a break from the pain? 


Oooooh, this week, this week. My god. The gravestone went in, as you know, then came my parents' 45th anniversary, the next day, mother's day. The Trifecta of Terror sat, coiled like a snake, in the pit of my stomach.  And then came an offer on my father's house. Should have been a good thing, right? It instead threw up all the red flags that too many things were happening at once, and the perfect storm was born. I huddled in the tv room, in the fetal position under blankets, sobbed, for over an hour. My nasal passages had swollen shut, and I could only breathe through my mouth. Karl came in and sat with me, gently patting my leg--he's not "hugger", though he is a very loving partner. He tried to say the right things, but I just wasn't having *any* of it. Because he didn't understand. He didn't understand that the house was the last piece of my father on the earth. I'm not attached to the house, per se, as he was trying to tell me I was-- I'm not attached to even the memories created in that house. It simply represents that last part of my father in the physical world, and I am selling it. It will be gone. My father's wish was for us to sell it, and so we are. But I feel conflicted about this.  Even still, I will follow my dad's wishes.


Someday new people will be living in his house. Before then, Karl and I will make another trip back to CT arrange for dumpsters, booksellers, estate buyers, moving vans. To say goodbye, for real, to the house, my hometown, and leave my parents behind in Elmwood Cemetary: Beloved Parents inscribed on their gravestone.  Yes, Yes, So I'm jumping ahead into the reality that is to come. Is it robbing me of any joy that I feel today?  Hell no. I don't feel any joy right now. I am trying to plan for what is to come. My inner control freak (I should give it a name) wants to get this all planned out so I can mobilize the troops. I am the troop mobilizer.


I am so worn out from this weekend of grief. It was the first anniversary that neither of my parents were alive to celebrate.  This year of "firsts" is supposed to be a bitch. I see this coming head on.  I am grateful, though sad, that I have a friend going through these firsts, too.   I don't know if my sister is reading this blog (I think not) but we don't share our feelings. We never have. I have tried, on and off for years, with never anything back. She is too involved in her own life, and now her own grief. She is unreachable, and frankly, I keep trying, through weekly cards to my niece and nephew, cards and small gifts to my sister....and...nothing. It is so sad. She told me once that I didn't treat her like a sister, and I wanted to say she doesn't even acknowledge my existence--not with phone calls, or  with thank you notes for gifts received, or an email saying the kids loved their presents (or even if they'd gotten them).  Or a note to see how I'm doing.  I am not going to ask, as I used to, if the kids got their gifts, or if my sister received hers. I don't do it to be thanked, and I will continue to do it. This is a door that I may have to close, although I fully know it would kill my father were he not already passed away.


His death has widened the gap between my sister and I rather than drawn us closer together.  We were at my father's side at the hospital the entire time he was there.  We barely communicated, perhaps out of the incredible pain of the experience while also trying to keep our spirits up around him. She is withdrawn and miserable and I cannot save her. She is 40+ years old, has two children and a husband as well as health insurance that would cover grief therapy. I am withdrawn but slowly reaching out to friends who will receive me in whatever state I'm in. The gift of true, abiding friendships is a salve on the open wound. I can't ask my sister to be anything she is not.  I want her to help herself so that she can live more happily and her children will grow up in an emotionally healthy environment. 


"It is my intention to emulate heaven's way by listening more, speaking less, and trusting that my answers will come without any screaming. I slow my pace so that it harmonizes with heaven's way." 
~ Dr. Wayne Dyer


But if no one's talking, I have to learn to listen to the silence...and that makes me sad.




This next quote, sent by my friend Lori after our rough weekend;  there is a toast at the end of Nicolas Nickelby, by Charles Dickens:

"In every life, no matter how full or empty one's purse, there is tragedy. It is the one promise life always fulfills. Thus, happiness is a gift, and the trick is not to expect it but to delight in it when it comes; and to add to other people's store of it.

What happens if, too early, we lose a parent, that party on whom we rely for only...everything? What did these people do when their families shrank?

They cried their tears.

But then they did the vital thing: they built a new family person by person. They came to see that family need not be defined merely as those with whom they share blood, but as those for whom they would give their blood."


She's a good friend, my Lori. Our lives of loss have occured on parallel paths. We lost our fathers exactly two months apart, to the day. Our parents' anniversaries are two days apart, and they were married almost the same number of years. 


Rita has popped back in, I think this time to stay. We've made a pledge to keep in touch, and I've asked her to share more stories about my mother and her, to be part of my life in what ever way she wishes. I am happy about this. I want to write down as much of my mom's story as I can as I am doing with my father. These are the last gifts, the things I can keep with me forever.  Although I don't have kids of my own, my niece and nephew may one day want to know things about their Mimi and Poppi. I want to have answers for them.  I cried yesterday that my sister has a piece of my dad in the genes of her children; I can't have kids, and am denied that same part of keeping my dad alive through kids. I am jealous, I am angry, never angrier than I was yesterday. Not angry at my sister, but at myself and Karl.
If there's a god, what the hell was he thinking? This is not fair. But as we all know, life is not fair.  


I have so many amazing friends on this journey with me. Gratitude keeps me as close to buoyant as I can be. When the darkness closes around me, there they are shining a light for me, so I can find my way home.  Blessed be.