I haven’t written since January?! How is that even possible? I think about things I want to talk about and share with you all, and then that thought leaves my mind just as quickly as it entered, and I start thinking about a million other things I could be doing.
I started a new position at the hospital I work at, and it is completely overwhelming at times. I am so busy that the days fly by before I know it. Not that I’m complaining about the time passing quickly at work, but that I have no time for other thoughts during the day. I also started back to school, which eats up a lot of blogging time. I meant to go back sooner, but I had this hilarious thought that maybe if I pushed it back another semester, my baby would be sleeping by then. HA! This almost 10 month old baby is STILL NOT SLEEPING, still getting up at least once during the night. So I just had to bite the bullet and go back, sleep or no sleep.
There are so many things I want to talk about with you all, and I’ve put off talking about this because it’s unpleasant. I have struggled with this “thing” for some time now and while currently I have moved past it, I want to bring you all to the beginning, and all of the feelings that came with it.
SO my dad started dating again.
Anyone who has lost a parent, sudden or not, I hope can relate to the anxiety I feel when I write that sentence. My dad is dating. He’s going on dates. With a woman who is not my mother. It’s hard to put into words the heartbreak that came along with this event. Let me first start off by saying that I love my father, I of course want him to be happy again, to find happiness and love in the life that he still has, that I expected this to happen eventually. But eventually sounds a lot better than 7 months after my mom died. My mother was alive seven months ago and you’re dating. Two things happened after I found this out. One was an extreme, absolutely one of the worst grief attacks I’ve honestly ever had. I was suddenly back to last May, back to the immediate aftermath of my mother’s sudden passing, and it was bad. Those waves of grief were tall and deep and just came crashing. For hours. HOURS of non stop anger and sadness and tears. Tears that this was real, that we were all starting to move on, that she’s really gone and not coming back, ever. In that moment I just felt so betrayed for my mother, I felt like I needed to defend her; this was wrong, he owed it to her to wait a year, she would be so upset by this, she deserves more than this.
In this moment I felt the urgent need to make it known I was not on board with this, that I would not accept this as my reality, and I wouldn’t make this a reality for my children. I felt a biological response in me to defend my mother, but I also felt really angry with my dad. Because from the second I answered my phone on that Tuesday and he told me something was wrong with my mother, I have been trying to take away some of this pain from him, if even in the slightest of ways. I kept my own grief to myself, to not burden him with anything other than his own feelings. And this felt like he was directly contributing to mine, without any consideration for anyone around him. I had spent the last 8 months carefully considering everyone in this goddamn family before I did anything, and I’m not even a tiny thought in the back of his mind.
I don’t know how to completely describe the fullness of my anger. To say that I was still angry just isn’t enough. I get angry at my dog when she pees on the floor. This is anger beyond description, beyond furious, beyond disappointed. I would have set the world on fire if I could have. I was emotionally drained every day simply carrying that around with me. It was exhausting. I didn’t want to talk to him. It felt like betrayal, like he was betraying my mother; like he was over it, over her. It felt like he was making more of an effort to have a relationship with some stranger than he was with his children and grandchildren, like he just needed to escape the reality of his life in any way possible. And that, even now that I think about it, is a hard part for me to get past. Because I get not wanting this to be real sometimes, but when I think about not feeling this ache for her, it almost makes me more sad. I don’t want to not feel this way, even though it sucks beyond words in ways I couldn’t begin to describe, I am terrifyingly holding on for dear life to this feeling. I guess because if I feel this way, it’s still new, it just happened, she’s just been gone for a minute. Maybe if I don’t feel this way, she’s really gone and we’ve moved on with our lives and she becomes a memory and not a person anymore. And that thought, as I’m typing it, brings to my eyes. Because that is something I just can’t bear to consider.
And this feels like a good place to pause.
Until next time…