Reset in Grief

Yesterday. Marked the 35^th anniversary of my father’s death. So many years. Without him. So changed altered by his death. By the way he struggled to survive those last years. The one man. Who loved adored saw everything good in me. When he died. When I lost him. It was like losing my own sense of worth value purpose. No one to look upon me with the same loving die for me eyes.

Adolescence is challenging under any all normal. But in grief. In loss. In watching caring switching roles nurturing a parent through cancer radiation chemotherapy new innovative treatments that felt like torture. New drugs. New for the 80s.

The doctors nurses staff at the hospital knew me. Knew all of us. I went there every day. During the middle of school. Missed lunch and convocation. Was given instant all encompassing permission. For everyone knew. But no one talked about it. Back then.

I would quietly walk away. Down to the car. Drive to the hospital. Park. Enter his room. Bring things he needed or requested or I thought he might like. I was shown introduced to all sorts of medical equipment jargon rooms. I knew where to go how to get anything he might need. Without words. There was no extra time for explanations discussions contemplations. Just rote doing. Being.

And then. The strength of conviction. That he was coming home. Where he wanted to be. At the end. Nothing more to be done tried conveyed. Our exit.

Into the cold winter evening. On a Friday afternoon.

Mom rode in the ambulance with him. Told him he was going home. He smiled. No more words could would come.

I drove the car. With my grandmother. With stuff. In silence. Quiet tears.

Home.

Sunday afternoon. I was studying for exams. Attempting to fill out college applications. Leapt off the couch. Heard the screaming pained deep bone tearing crying howl. Of my mom. Ran to her. Held her to protect from anything that might possibly be left. In this world.

I called the funeral home. Dealt with the aftermath. Returned to school on Tuesday.

Broken.

It took years decades multiple bad choices and no sense of value worth. To remember recall be restored. To the love worth value. He had bestowed upon me.

It took the love of J.P. to reach down deep and find the love I once had felt cherished as a child. As if the loss of my father equaled the loss of myself.

These past few years with mom. Have been so painful horrendous utterly sobbing dreaded tragedy.

But it began before that. Years ago. When I first noticed signs symptoms of her not being her.

I think. Maybe perhaps possibly. If I had not been dealing with. The loss of her. Maybe the way pained that I had been treated for years. Would have gone unnoticed. Or continued to be set aside ignored.

But

At some point

When the pain is too much unbearable beyond anything

You stop.

Everything stops.

In a moment.

And you will never forget those moments. When you said enough. When divorce was the only possible way method manner. To be restored. To find redemption salvation. To find safety and love. For you and yours.

These past years with mom. So very hard gut wrenching. Breathless. Dementia is always hard. But in a pandemic. Loss. So very soulfully devastating. To not be able to hold on. Hold her. Be with her in her moment of passing. Crushing life sucking. As though I have been unable to fulfill this last obligation. Of being with her unto her next journey.

Reading the Alchemist to her in the last few weeks. Her favorite book. Hoping. Every second. That she would become the wind.

Mom’s death passing loss. Three and ½ weeks. It’s been.

You think it will be easier this time. Expected mourned lost already. But no.

It quietly seeps in. Unexpectedly. Turned head. Forgotten moment.

Crushing. Crashing. Tsunami wave of grief unending.

And then silence. Quiet. Solitude. Relief

To be repeated

During the past months. When we waited anticipated a call at any ever moment. To rush over. To be with her. To say goodbye. It took so very long

I had grown used to accustomed to all my vices. Grief and pandemics bring them closer. I enjoyed relished coke zero. In great quantities. To wake me up. Give me oomph. Make me alert. Until it was time for wine. And then a bottle of wine shared. What could be the harm?

Nothing. Probably. But after weeks of caffeine & wine. Of grabbing a cookie for the sugar rush. Of not worrying so very much about nutrition. After mom’s passing. And interactions with people I would rather not. At some point. One grows weary. Of feeling weary.

Of being tired drained sad mopey. Overwhelmed and overcome by paperwork and stress and meetings and calls. And being.

So. My threshold for feeling bad poorly. Had been met.

A raw juice cleanse for three days. Fine. I could do it with J.P.

Wait. No soda. WTF. Just one minute…

Ok. Fine.

Five days of advil. Three days of raw juices green and fruit healthy. Shaking quivering. Feeling low.

Finally. Done.

And then. Something which I did not want expect. No more cravings. Sleeping through the night. Shit crap. I feel better.

But I love adore soda and rich fabulous foods and wine. I’m not giving up wine. Just to be clear.

But at this age and time and place. Soda is gone. Eating whole foods. Finding broccoli and hummus for lunch. And being ok.

And being buoyed by the kindness of friends. Of small tokens and random calls. One might think these would somehow align. Be commensurate with. A hierarchy of friendship years known closeness. But. Some know not what to say. Some say nothing. And the loss of their presence is also felt. Those who know. Who have been through this in some way. Who understand know feel what it is like. To be without. To feel an orphan. Isolated in family of origin. Human.

Sadness comes in many forms. Loss from death being ignored overlooked checked box next. Yet emerging love power strength may come with sugar cookies fruit oysters flowers checking in reaching out. And. In a pair of “Motherfucking girl power” socks.

And while this weather is not running friendly for me. My hands get cold below 75 degrees. We do have a peloton.

So the peloton it is and shall be. For finding redemption through sweat. Peace through exhalations.

And then. The other night. Kendall Toole. Peloton instructor extraordinaire. Holiday music for 20 minutes. This should lift me up. Lift me out. Of the fog that has overcome shadowed.

Until she spoke of the empty chairs this year. The loss of loved ones.

I broke down. But kept cycling peddling pushing hard. For we were meant to ride for those who cannot.

And with tears and heartache and sadness. I found a piece of myself again.

And I keep going. Trying to maintain my own health balance life. Seeking moderation. Physical well being.

Because.

Between the waves. That come crashing down.

One must take a breath

(Picture of Cooper who follows me everywhere I go. I got stuck in sadness on a bench in the back hall. He stayed with me)