oooooOOOOOOOOOHHHhhhhhhh kay then. Last night's middle of the night posting clearly shows how much I've got going on in my noggin. It makes me think I've got another wave coming. I think now, after having gone through today, a peaceful day, that something is coming. Something not good. It's my old thinking, thinking I identified in Al-Anon, the group formed for friends and family members of alcoholics. Al-Anon says, among many other wise things, that people raised in alcoholic environments always wait for "the other shoe to drop," because it usually did. So I've got a shoe in my hand, waiting for the other one to drop...don't know when it will, or over what, but something's brewing. These things sometimes wake me in the middle of the night with no name, just a feeling. My mom's friend Rita was so kind in her email to me this morning, nervous that the mementos of my mother that she sent me had exacerbated my anxiety.
NB to Rita: I haven't been brave enough to open your envelope. It is with my father's things in my bedroom. I am glad to have them, am glad they're here; I'm just taking my time.
For anyone reading, I did get my tattoo. It's not the first (it's my eighth), and it may not be the last. I chose the flowers from my parents' gravestone. It's a big tattoo, but I like it. And it is easily covered by every day clothes, so it is really just for me. Like this blog, the tattoo and its design were a calling.
Several friends have mentioned to me Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. More friends commented that they'd like to read it. So I started a Facebook Page by invitation only--kind of like an online book circle. The main point of this is that I--technologically UN-savvy girl--was able to figure out the nuts and bolts of how to do it. Same is true with the blog. Kind of exciting. This will be a welcome addition to my grief journey.
Earlier this evening, I was looking at my calendar for tomorrow morning and a shocking thought popped into my head: I should call Dad and see how he's doing. This hasn't happened for a while. My brain hasn't jumped its reality tracks in a couple of months.
The day includes the reality of physical therapy, mailing weekly hello cards to my niece K and nephew T, making airplane reservations and reading something sent by a friend. And wandering. There has to be some wandering or my day isn't complete. After several months of ragged shuffling, it's evolved into a real walking meditation, transcending the schlumping through the mall I did every day to simply to avoid being at home with my father's stuff, our memories, the clutter. Now I walk, or wander, to free my mind, to let it say what it has to say (so it doesn't keep me up at night!). It is not such anguished time anymore. It's true that I do like to stay out of the house part of the day, but I have accepted this as part of my healing.
I guess, tonight, although I still fear the wave, and I believe it will come, I know I am on the right road. I hope tonight there will be no middle of the night spray tanning, or searching for gummy bears. I'd like it to be morning when I open my eyes.
About Me
- Catherine
- In this blog I have created a haven, a place I allow my deepest emotions to go and sit. I can write easily about what I’ve accomplished. This biography I can recite in my sleep. But I’ve always written poetry and in diaries since I was a teenager. I continued to write poetry in my journals, and not until 2006 did I show them to anyone. I generally write every day, at the present in memoir form. I haven’t written poetry since my mother died in January, 2007. I didn’t write at all between her death and the death of my father three years later in January, 2010. On my father’s birthday in March, 2010, I began this blog, to honor my father and to help me grieve. But I also desperately needed to write, and this stream of conscious style emerged. I needed to find my organic voice.
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