New Year's Eve. I'm facing New Year's Eve without you. This seems more terrifying than Christmas did. Christmas comes and goes with little effect on every day life. New Year's Eve signifies a change. A big change. Usually, it represents a fresh start, a time to make changes to better your life. I don't want any of that. I want to just stay here. Stay right here, so I don't have to say it's been a year. Or that it's been two, or three. So I don't have to face my birthday, your birthday or anything else without you. Once the holiday's are over, life gets back into sync.
I'm not ready for sync. I'm not ready to fall back into the normal routine, because there is no normal anymore. Everything is abnormal, and I am doing my best to just step through it. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I hate not knowing what I'm doing. I hate that I have to pretend that I do because there is no time to stop and grieve.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of the hardest year of my life. This has thrown absolutely everything out of order, and sometime I have to try to find it again. I'm not ready.
I've worried about this sort of thing for a long, long time. The first time I killed a bug, I freaked out because I was so sure that he had babies, and now those babies wouldn't have a daddy. The idea of not having a daddy absolutely broke my heart. In my head, I've had an order for how this sort of thing was suppose to happen. Grandpa would go first. Then Grandma. Then mom, and finally, many years down the line, when you were old and grouchy and not wearing black socks and shorts because of the deal we made so long ago, you would go. Everything indicated that is how it would go. This was never part of the deal. Your parents were not suppose to still be here when you left us. But they are. Now I'm paranoid I'm going to lose everyone. I hate having that fear. I hate it. But in the last two years I've lost so many things that were so important to me. Every time I get sort of through one, another comes along. I'm so tired. Tired of everything.
I saw someone the other day wearing a "Donate Life" bracelet. The very same one I wear every single day in an effort to somehow keep a physical piece of you with me. I wanted to ask them so many questions, hug them so hard and just cry. But I didn't. Instead, I made a simple comment, showed them mine and left it at that.
I'm about 10 minutes shy of ushering in the biggest struggle I've faced. I can't stop it. But I sure won't be celebrating it.
I love you, daddy.
It's Christmas. Normally, mom's family would come over, we'd eat and we'd watch hours upon hours of A Christmas Story and laugh as though it was the first time we'd ever seen it. I'd tease you about how we'd need to go to bed because NORAD said Santa was near. When we were younger, I'd stay awake to listen for you and mom moving around after everyone had gone to sleep. I'd hear the rustling of packages and bags and wait anxiously for the lights to go out. I'd wait about a half hour then go see what was left under the tree and sort through my stocking. When I was little, Dylan and I would wake you and mom up and pull you into the living room to open presents. As I grew, it was usually you pulling me out of bed to join everyone else. I've never been a morning person, so you'd poke at me and try to get me to wake up more. You'd demand to see everything I got, even though you already knew, and you'd go "oooo" and "all right!" very excitedly with each gift.
We never knew what to buy for you. I'd started asking you in October what you wanted, and I got your usual response. "I don't know." It was your standard answer to any question regarding gifts for you. I'd already told you that I was going to buy you a dancing squirrel that sang Christmas carols if you didn't tell me what you wanted this year. Last year, I bought you a bobble head version of The Old Man from A Christmas Story. He has sat on the mantle since I gave him to you. I fixed him, by the way. I glued his hands back to him, so he's holding his leg lamp once more. I found a house that had a life sized leg lamp sitting in its front window. You would have loved it.
We're going to your mom's house tomorrow. While it will be nice to spend some time with part of your family, it's going to hurt so much to be there, with them, without you. Your picture is all over her living room and my eyes can't help but drift towards the little box that sits in front of her TV. I guess, in a way, you will be there with us.
Oh daddy, I'd give anything for you to come back. I have so many things I need to say to you. I want to be able to see you, just one more time. I didn't get to see you that day, and that will forever hurt me. I told you how much I loved you while we were in the hospital. I said a lot of things to you in the hospital, but it's not the same.
There's not a day that goes by that I don't have something to say to you or to ask you about or that I don't ache to hug you. My rational mind recognizes that nothing would be a greater tribute to the kind of man you were than for me to go on and live my life as a good and decent person, because that's how you and mom raised me. My emotional mind doesn't feel the same. We always differed in that respect. That's one of the major areas that we argued about. You didn't like for me to get upset about things that you thought were inconsequential. You'd tell me it did no good for me to get upset because it didn't accomplish anything. I know eventually I will do better. I'll never be fine, because this isn't something I will ever be okay with. But I will do better. I'm not focusing on that right now, though. I'm not ready to think about doing better. I'm not anywhere near ready.
I hope your first Christmas in Heaven is a good one. I hope you, and Uncle Walter have a good time with Maxwell and Tango. I hope Maxwell is stealing your socks. I hope Grandma and Grandpa Davis find you. I hope Uncle Jack is blasting your eardrums with a western on full volume. I hope you get everything you ever wanted up there. I know that's not exactly possible, because if it were, you'd have all this free time, and you'd be spending it with mom. One day you'll get that chance. I pray that you're happy, daddy. I hope it's possible. I don't know how you'll be, being without mom. Or us. You've never really been by yourself as far as I can remember. And I hate that you have to be without us now. One day we'll all be together though. We'll all be spending Christmas in Heaven together, and I can't wait.
It's been one month since I've last spoken to you, teased you, played a hidden picture game while watching stupid reality TV with you. One month since I've seen you burn things, passed by you in the living room and rested my chin on your head or hugged you. One month since I've heard you say "Hey girl," as I walked by, or endured your teasing or heard one of your many sound effects.
I miss it more than I can ever say. Oh God, how I miss it. I miss it so much that I'm too numb to even feel it. That doesn't make much sense, does it? I don't know how else to explain it. It's like I've removed any sense of feeling, hollowed myself out until I'm a shell of nothingness just to find a way to manage with how overwhelming all of this is.
I started seeing Dr. Marks again. He wasn't taking new patients at the time I called, but he made an exception for me. Once he found out what happened he made sure to do his best to get me in for the rest of the month. He's being really great about it. I hope it helps. It's funny, but grief is what started me on therapy in the first place. All those years of therapy I had kicked off after grandma died. I still have the memory box I made for her in therapy. 14 years later, and it still sits at the top of my closet.
I'm not ready to make one for you yet. I'm not ready to admit that you're only a memory now. I can't. I can't handle that yet.
I miss your voice. I miss the way you smelled; a combination of Zest and Head and Shoulders. You always smelled clean, and it was comforting. I miss telling you I love you. I always kept the thought in the back of my mind that you could never say I love you enough. I made a conscious effort to do it multiple times a week because I've always been afraid of losing you and mom. Mom more than you though. Your family lives forever. Mom's doesn't. I was sure this was going to happen the other way around. I've been trying to prepare myself for that for years. Death is something I have always struggled with. I guess grandpa's death would be part of what set that off. That's all I remember happening before my obsession with ghost stories and Ouija boards began. I remember being upset, too. It's one of my earliest memories.
You've never worried like that though. You never let much get to you. It always bothered you that I did. I'm sure if you were here, you'd be very bothered by how hard I am taking this. I know you hated watching me grieve for Tango. That whole month you tried everything to ease me out of it and make me happy. At one point you even just begged me to smile again. I wish you were here now. You always made things easier to bear. You just handled everything so easily and so calmly. I always wished I could be more like you in that regard. I always felt like I failed you because I wasn't. And now, here we are.
I miss you daddy. I would give up everything and do anything in my power to make you come back. I wasn't done with you yet. We had plans. You had plans. You were suppose to get old. I was suppose to tease you about your socks and fashion choices and remind you you gave me the right to shoot you if you ever wore black socks and sandals. It makes me so angry that you spent most of your life taking care of other people and never asking for anything in return and you never got to do the one thing you wanted most. All you wanted was to retire and enjoy yourself. It absolutely eats me up inside that you never got that chance. There are so many things I'm angry about, but I won't get into them here.
I don't feel like I spent enough time with you. I don't feel like I told you I loved you or hugged you enough. I don't feel like I thanked you enough for being such an incredible father. I don't feel like I turned out to be what I should have to reflect how incredible you were.
God I miss you daddy. And I love you.
I am not a band-aid ripper. I peek. I carefully lift the corner and slowly peel back part of it, just enough so I can see the wound. If I don't think it's ready, I'll replace it and wait a few more days. If it is, I'll slowly peel it the rest of the way off, fold it in half twice and toss it.
Right now, I'm living my life wrapped in a giant band-aid. It's amazing what the mind can do to protect itself from trauma. My mind has wrapped itself in a layer of fog via shock. It doesn't allow me to rip it off and confront the full severity of the wound, which is incredible. Right or wrong, this band-aid will not be ripped away in one fell swoop. It's going to be peeled back, layer by layer by layer until my mind and my heart are fully willing, able and ready to accept what happened. It's going to be a long, slow, painful process, but it will be the only way I'll be able to confront this and deal with it. Doesn't really work with the hustle and bustle of our society, does it?
My mom, on the other hand, is a ripper. She isn't a very sentimental sort, unlike me. She has already sorted through some of his clothes to donate, and tonight she threw away the leftover stuff from his office and his tea jug. "It makes it look like he is here, but he's not, so I'm throwing it away." I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded and listened to the loud thunk the heavy glass jug made as it hit the bottom of the trash can. My mind was screaming at me to grab it and put it back, to tell her that's EXACTLY why it needed to stay, because it was his and it made it feel like he was still here. Each piece that we throw away is like taking an eraser and slowly blurring him into oblivion. It's like grabbing the edge of my shock layered band-aid and ripping it away from the wound before it's ready to be revealed. Everything in me screams to grab all of his things and hold them tight, refusing to let myself physically eradicate him from the world.
We visited my grandparents tonight. It was weird to see that box in front of their television. My dad is in that box. Originally, they had planned to buy the plot next to my dad on the tree ring his ashes are buried in. I found that idea to be extremely comforting. Should it really matter? Not really. It's not like that's him in the ground. But it was. The idea gave me a sense of security. It doesn't make sense, but there it is.
He had a visitor yesterday. One of my mom's friends visited his grave and said a prayer over it. She sent mom a picture of the tree ring, too. It's a very nice spot. It's under a tree and it's facing a bunch of trees. Dad always sat out in the back yard and watched the wind blow through the trees, so it was very fitting. We're going Wednesday to figure out his grave marker. I'm not looking forward to it. Visiting the funeral home and grave yard further tugs at that band-aid that I'm just not ready to remove.
My life changed forever today.
I had to say goodbye to the strongest, bravest, most loving, caring, amazing man I've ever known. He could lie with the straightest face, would spit out nonsense answers to any question you asked and had a temper a mile long. But when it came to his family, there was nothing more important. Nothing came before his family, and it was because of that dedication he had to us that we had to let him go today.
Goodbye, daddy. 62 was far too young, considering everyone on your side of the family is ridiculously healthy and lives till they're ancient. 24 hours ago, I never thought I'd be saying those words. But goodbye, daddy.
I love you more than words will ever be able to express.
stage IV. Treatable, not curable. Spread to bone and liver. I'm absolutely crushed for her. I took her up there to help her get her stuff. They played nice with her. Wouldn't even ACKNOWLEDGE me. I must have REALLY pissed them off by putting in my two weeks to be completely written off like that. Oh well. I really don't give a rats ass what they think. I was there for her, and only her. It just amuses me that they behave like such children.
Doing another show. Actually, two shows. One is Bus Stop, by William Inge. We had a bunch of people show up purely because the play was turned into a movie Marilyn Monroe stared in. Naturally, I did not get Marilyn's part, but that wasn't the part I was going for anyway. Character actors are never destined to be the leads. The second one is with a director I've worked with before. It's a show he wrote, sort of a radio program set in the 40's. We're performing it for Veteran's Day, should be fun! I'm singing in this one, too. Moonlight Serenade is going to be my big solo number. Kind of excited. I don't normally get the opportunity to sing, so we'll see how this goes. It's going to be really hectic till November. Rehearsing 2 shows, working 10 hour days, plus, y'know, life.
Whatever that previous funk was appears to have passed. It must be hormonal. Which means this may be a regular occurrence. Not cool.
I sat down and watched the entire first season of Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, and I'm in love. I'm dying for the second season to start! It got pretty intense for a cartoon if you ask me! Part of the final episode made me cringe. It was intense man. Intense. I can't wait to see where they go with it next!
I'm just rambling now in an effort to distract myself from everything. Need to turn off my brain for a bit. I go into auto pilot when I write, so it's a good way to go numb in the head for a bit.
Sometimes I wonder if I keep myself as busy as I do to maintain that sort of numbness. Perhaps I'll never know.
I was suppose to go to the zoo. Instead, I went to the hospital. My friend was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer on Thursday. They think it has spread to her liver and her stomach as well. I went up there to visit her to see how she's doing. My old workplace doesn't give a rats ass. She called them on Wednesday and told them she thought she was having a heart attack and that she couldn't work. They said "so you'll be in at 8:30 tomorrow morning then?" Again, she tried to explain that uh..heart attack means not working. They said everyone has been really sick around there and that it wouldn't be fair for her to take time off work. That was no excuse to miss, so see you on Thursday morning at 8:30 and they hung up.
They disgust me.
She called 911 and was taken in that night. Her heart is fine, thankfully. It's everything else that needs fixing. I got so upset after visiting her that when I picked up my lunch on the way home, I took one look at it, saw the order was wrong and just threw all the food and everything out the window of my car while I was driving and crying. I was just so angry. I threw it all out and went home.
I'm taking her up to our old workplace next Friday so she can pick up her things and get out of there.
People disgust me.
As predicted, I worked by myself all day. I think it worked in my favor. I had such bad cramps that I don't think I could have dealt with anyone bothering me. Ugh. I am not a fan of this. It's like nothing below my shoulders does not hurt. Not. cool. I was going to go see Rifftrax Live tonight but I just can't take it.
It's times like these that make me wonder if I am as truly over the depression as I like to believe I am. I'm just so out of it. I'm not myself. My mom told me I'm not acting normal. I don't feel normal. I feel tired and teary. Things I do not want to feel, because I do NOT want to start the medication mambo again. I do not want to have a pill ball and chain for the rest of my life. People are not suppose to cry all the time. I don't like having a broken brain. I don't like not feeling like I want to do anything. I was invited to go to the zoo on Friday. I love the zoo, but I don't feel like I can even bother to muster up the energy to get out of bed to go. The mere idea of going out wears me out. The thought of doing anything makes me tired. All I want to do is curl up in my bed, hug my bear and not move. Period.
I can't give in to this. Giving in will only make it worse, but it's so damn hard. Not bothering is so much easier. I don't want to make judgments though. It hasn't been this bad till this last week, or the end of last. This may just be a side effect of being hormonal. I've gone out quite a bit this summer, more than I could afford, naturally, but I did it. Like always, making myself leave was hard, but it wasn't ever this daunting. I am hoping and praying that all of this, and that nonsense last night, is just a temporary visitor. It will come and go like the stupid ridiculousness that (hopefully) brought it in. I just hope this is not going to be a monthly routine. So not up for this every month.
Please, please go away, depression. I have finally been able to find a life without you, I don't want you bad. Our relationship, while lengthy, was never good or healthy. I can't do this song and dance with you on a frequent basis. I'm not strong enough to deal with it.
I'm not sure why I bother writing here anymore. I don't have anything exciting to say. I blather on about how this sucks or that sucks or I'm not doing anything or I miss something. I wonder if it's even worth bothering with anymore. Part of this may be my grumpiness talking. That seems to be a pretty constant state lately. Some of this is hormonal and pain related I'm sure. Ugh, my chest is so sore. Toddlers do not make this any better.
I'm going to end up working alone tomorrow, watch. 10 hours alone SUCKS. You can't go anywhere without taking 4 toddlers with you. If you can't take them, you're trapped. I'm not a fan, but this will go well with the rest of my week.
Why am I even bothering with this, seriously? It's just another reminder of how I've wasted my life and how I'll continue wasting it all because I screwed myself over by not completing college at the right time and by my paralyzing fear of math thanks to having math teachers call me stupid and having an accountant for a father who tried to help me do math homework. I really hate myself for that. I'll never get out of this endless cycle of mediocrity because I can't follow equations that I will never use. Of course, that paper doesn't guarantee anything, either. Mediocrity may just be all I'm destined for. A rut of nothingness.
Cry more, I know. Whatever.
I'm disappointed my Pottermore email hasn't shown up yet. I registered and validated on the first day and I've yet to see hide nor hair of it. Getting impatient. I want in, dammit.
So another year has come and gone without Tango. This anniversary passed a little differently than the last one. Last one I sat outside and cried. This time, I went outside and rescued a giant turtle trying to navigate across the subdivision. My parents went with me over to the lake, and we set him down on the shore and watched him take off. I took that as a positive sign. And it worked out so much better than the bunny rescue I tried the week before. :<
There were baby bunnies on the toddler playground. Literally in the mulch right up against the equipment. Blind and ears still closed, they were crawling out of the burrow and I was afraid they'd get hurt. So I told my boss in hopes of having them taken to the wildlife rescue. Wasn't to be. Animal control got called and I was told these blind, helpless bunnies were just dumped somewhere. I bawled the whole way home from work and felt like the worst person in the world. Someone tried to make me feel better by telling me that there would always be more bunnies. As if that was what I was worried about. *sigh*
So, I just finished a show with a new theater company, our local community theater group Act II. It was a great experience, even if our director needed a little help. She never really directed, and then only came to ONE of our performances. She didn't put a directors note or bio in the program. Really felt like she didn't want to be a part of the show, and it was irritating. But I loved the group and hope to do more with them in the future! We did Southern Hospitality
and it was so much fun. The playwrights called and wished us all luck, too, how cool is that?!
It was so weird trying to make my hair huge. At one point in the play, after my character gets into a fist fight, I really had to make it big. People thought it was a wig. I was like haha NO. Not a wig, all real, sad to say. Too much hair. One old woman stopped me and told me I was so beautiful. It's not something I hear often, so I was completely caught off guard. I was also told it looks like I'd lost weight, which I'm totally cool with.
Now it's a bunch of decisions to make. I was asked to come work with an opera group at the college, I've got a USO show thing in November, and there's another show I could audition for in a few weeks. BUSY BUSY BUSY. But when I'm not on stage I have far too much time on my hands and am left going WTF DO I DO NOW THERE ARE SO MANY HOURS BEFORE BED!!?!
I've been doing this for far too long, obviously. This was my 13th show in 5 years. Not too bad if I say so myself!