I miss my Dad. So much some days it hurts. I had a dream about him the other night. My therapist (who I have recently broken up with when she told me that possibly I got this disease because my body was trying to tell me to slow down. WHAT THE FUCK?!?!? There are lots of people who are way busier then me that do not have this crazy rare disease. She pissed me off, and made me feel like this was my fault. Maybe this was some projection because I DO feel like this might be my fault. Way too much psychology for me. Maybe this is a separate blog post.) and I were talking about how to get through the process of getting stuck with the IV. My blood pressure goes really high when they do this I can feel myself getting anxious as I get out of the car.
She was wanting me to go to the place I love best. I went to backyard of my parents house in Estes. I can feel the summer breeze, smell the air, and I see my dad on the back porch waving at me. I practice visualization before I go to sleep at night so that it easy to achieve while under stress (it really works by the way. My BP was super high the first time around, the second time after the visualization, so much better.) In the dream, I could see him, telling us to come up for dinner. He was grilling hot dogs and chicken. I was sick in this dream, and I was trying to get to him. I was struggling to get to him. I was using my cane and having trouble in the backyard going over the rocks. I was yelling at him to come and help me and his back was to me and he would not come. I know, more psychology. I get it. But I still hate it.
I just want to call him and get his advice. Advice on how to deal with our new life and how to pay for all of this. Advice about work and where to live. He was so good at listing and helping send us down the right path. He would never really tell you what to do. He would just nudge. Like when I wanted put off going back to college for a year after my freshman year. He said that I should go back, if I did not, he was worried that I would not go back. That is what he did. He said he would always go back and he never did.
He spent 31 days in the ICU. I was only there for 12 of them. They were hard days, and I was not there for the hardest. The last day I was there, my dad was having a hard time getting comfortable, and I was trying to help put a pillow under his hip. I asked him what hip he wanted the pillow under, he said he did not care. And I yelled at him. I told him to start caring. He was sort of out it that day and he never acknowledged my outburst. Nick walked in moments later, I kissed my dad goodbye, told him I would be back over Labor Day and I would make him some chocolate chip cookies. And that was it, the last time I saw him alive. I was back over Labor Day weekend, but it was for his funeral. No cookies.
It is hard to do, but I choosing to not to remember those days when he was sick. I remember my dad holding my babies. I remember working with him at Big A. I remember one day I hit the building with the old white beat up truck we had. He ran out, and just started laughing at me. I can still see his face in the rear view mirror laughing. I can see him when Nick is sitting on my couch, crossing his legs. I can see him in Gabe. Gabe shares his way of wanting to figure out how things work and how to make things work better.
So fuck cancer. Fuck it. I want my dad back. My healthy dad.
You'll always miss your dad, Sa, always. My grandma was almost 83 when she died. Her mom had passed away 25 years before her and she still talked about wanting to see and talk to her mom all the time. No matter how old we are, when we're sick we STILL want our moms and dads.
ReplyDeleteI love you, Sarah.
From the day we met in art in 7th grade, you have been a kindred soul. I physically ache for you now. I want to make you better. I want you to wear flip flops. I want you to go on as many field trips as you want. I want you to not be able to comprehend the monster that is chronic pain. I want you to be able to sit and talk to your dad. I want you to not give a second thought to getting out of bed, preparing you and your family for the day, running up and down the stairs, caring too many things in mom-octopus arms and not having to think about balance and strength. I want my best friend to be whole again...not because I wouldn't love her no matter what her circumstances, but because I love her and want the greatest circumstances for her.
When I read your blog sometimes I think about the scene in Forrest Gump when Jenny is throwing rocks at the dilapidated house she grew up in, a place that was traumatic for her. Finally, when she's exhausted and out of rocks, she falls to the ground. Forrest's voiceover says, "Sometimes there just aren't enough rocks."
There aren't enough rocks to throw at your past two years to make them more fair, tolerable, understood, or more easily endured. Day by day you'll get through. Not they way you thought you would, but you'll get through. You'll lean on your amazing husband, your incredible children and your loving mom and siblings. They'll lean back on you (even if you don't know it or recognize it) by drawing inspiration from your strength and endurance through extreme adversity.
Long story short (too late)...Keep throwing the rocks when you need to and I'll love you forever!