Originally written Sunday, September 28, 2008 (the day after the 3 year mark of my fathers death) but I wanted to post it here. It took a lot for me to write everything out, and I wanted to share it.
Yesterday I had this blog all planned out. Every point I wanted to make, every memory I wanted to recall, every thought I wanted to write down. Today I have nothing. This last month I've had this feeling of foreboding…this knot in the pit of my stomach, all leading up to this day. This morning when I woke up, it was all gone. I was left with an aching sadness that burrowed itself into my soul. Into the core of my very being. I've been in a zombie like state for the majority of the day. I haven't cried once. I had a moment where my throat closed up on me a little, but I got it under control before I lost it. There is a time and place for meltdowns. Sitting at my desk at work is not one of them. I probably won't have a meltdown today. I've tried really hard to keep the emotions in check all day, and so far I've done an OK job. Instead of restricting my thought process and keeping my mind busy, I've let it wander, but when the memories became too painful, I stopped thinking. Just told my mind to stop. And surprisingly it worked.
All day today, 101.5 has been playing all of my dads favorite songs. It's like he's trying to comfort or reassure me. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it. Or my dad just liked popular songs. I don't know, but it's been interesting. The songs have allowed me to bring up those little memories that have almost been lost in the catacombs of my mind. I was lying in bed the other day, playing with Max, and he grabbed my hand. I was marveling in the softness of his little chubby baby hand, and thinking about how I want to remember the way his hand felt in that exact moment forever. I startled at the realization that I couldn't easily remember what my Dads hand felt like. I used to be able to just imagine his hand and instantly pull up a sensory memory of the way his hand felt in mine. The hard won calluses from years of physical labor, the overall strength they possessed, how delicate my hand looked in his. Such a seemingly ordinary memory. Gone. I had to sit and concentrate to be able to 'feel' it. I lost it. I felt as if I was forgetting him. It reminded me of an excerpt from one of my favorite books that I had posted in a previous blog:
"You cannot die of grief, though it feels as if you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes your chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor. How dare I feel happy. How dare I be glad in a world where my father is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss him as much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death."
~Laurell K. Hamilton
'Stroke of Midnight'
I felt like I was letting his memory slip away. Like my brain is so full of new memories that it decided to downsize, and get rid of the little memories that it thought I wouldn't miss. But I did. I miss those little memories. It's those little memories that keep my Father alive in my heart. The little memories that are so easily overlooked. Of course I remember all the big memories. The father daughter dance when I was 7 where he embarrassed the hell out of me by dancing, the day he came home to live with me, the day he came to get me from school when my grandma died, the look on his face when he proposed to Yvette, the lopsided boyish grin he gave me when I told him that I was supposed to have kids before I was 25. He exclaimed "I'm going to be a Poppa?"…he was so excited. I frequent these memories in my head, like a person visits a museum. I mosey about them like I have all the time in the world. They are still painful, but more bearable than ever before. I thought that by becoming a mother, I would turn into this ferocious, overprotective creature that will do anything in her power to shield her son from anything that could potentially harm him. And in a way I have, just not quite to the extent that I thought. Becoming a mother has taken my hidden box of emotions, my meticulously built, fireproof, stronghold box of emotions, and shattered it. Utterly destroyed it. Being a mother has forced me to feel. I used to wear my callousness like a cloak. A cloak that I could wrap around me and hide in when need be. Why waste tears if you can decide you don't care, and move onto the next topic? It made perfect sense in my head. Being a mother has made me soft. This year, is the hardest and the easiest year dealing with my Dads death. Taking Max to visit his Grandfathers' grave for the first time is not going to be easy, but I know that by taking him there, and explaining to him who his grandfather was, and who he still is, will be cathartic. And it will help keep my Dad alive. I will never be able to fully explain to Max how great his grandfather was. How quick witted, sarcastic and hilarious he was. (If you knew him, you know what I'm talking about. Every time I try to describe him, I never do him justice.) The saddest part for me is that my husband and son missed out on one of the greatest people I've ever known. Even if he wasn't my father, I'd still think he was pretty great. Max will never know his Grandfathers love. And that hurts
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