don't know my own strength

It's been quite awhile since I posted.  I would love to be able to say that's because i've been noveling furiously for NaNoWriMo.  That has had it's place, but I haven't spent every waking moment noveling.  If I had, I wouldn't be less than halfway to the goal with barely a week left to go.

This week has surprised me.  I've been seeing a counselor and I shared with her last week that I am very aware of my emotional state most of the time.  I can feel, like inside my chest, when I am getting what I have come to call "fragile."  That moment, or day, or situation, or worn-down-place where I know the wrong word, the wrong song lyric, the right hug will reduce me to weeping.  In those moments, at those times I close ranks, so to speak. I pull back from relationships that might strain me, which to be honest, there are very few of in my life.  I pay closer attention to the radio and jump away from songs that I know have nailed me in the past.  I pay a different type of attention to conversations with friends to try to keep it steered to safe topics.  Since the funeral in April I have only cried in front of three or maybe four people.  Like seriously lost it cried.  The can't talk kind of cried. One of those people is my mom.  Since the funeral I haven't cried in front of any of my other family.

I have only had a few "bad" days.  One or two a month where the old weight, the old heaviness, the old apathy show up again.  And I struggle to make coffee.  I struggle to focus.  I struggle to care.  But they are the exception.  They are still very hard and extremely frustrating because I can't control or predict them.  But I can deal with once or twice every month or so if it means the rest of my days feel like most people's days feel.  Not weighted.  Not heavy. Not apathetic.  I can deal with a few days.

I have had a number of people tell me at various points that they are proud of me for how I'm handling "everything."  Some have even said they are impressed at it.  For the most part I have graciously accepted the compliment and inwardly deflected it.  I have said to a few of them:

I don't know any other way to be. 

This is who I am,

this is how I've always been.

But a very dear friend of mine lost her father two years ago this weekend.  She moved away from her home state 7 months prior to that, moved to a 2nd different state weeks prior to that, got married in there, oh, and switched careers.  She changed jobs again afterwards.  

In the last twelve months I lost a job, made a plan to return to school, Dad got sick, I got a job, I nixed the plan for school, and dad died.  Oh, and I dated a dink for a couple weeks.

As someone with a degree in social work, I know that list of major life stressors that can cause all sorts of problems etc.  Marriage, Death and Career are 3 of the biggest things on that list.  Moving is very high as well.  She and I were talking the other day and she said that she was totally not motivated to work on stuff around her house.  But then she told me all the stuff she had already done.  I told her I thought she was doing great. I forget exactly what she said, but I think I answered with 'there will always be bad days,' mostly because she has reminded me of that repeatedly.  At one point I finally said to her:

Considering what each of us has been 

through in the last couple of years,

I'm surprised neither one of us 

is curled up in a fetal position 

on the floor 

in a closet.

A lot of days I am.  I am astounded that I continue to function.  I consider that it has been just over 7 months and I've kept down my job, continued to pay my bills, kept my apartment, maintained my friendships, and don't come home crying every night, or even every week.  Some days it feels like it's already been years.  I feel kind of awful for even saying it, but it almost feels like it's "always" been this way.  And, some days, it's fresh and the wound re-opens and the quiet tears on the way home turn into heaving, not breathing, beyond-the-ugly-cry sobbing once i make it safely inside these 4 walls I call home.

Almost a month ago a friend got married.  It was the first wedding since Dad died.  I cried a few tears watching her dad walk her down the aisle.  I cried a few more when her husband vowed to be with her "through every joy and every loss."  I cried a lot more when she danced with her dad to the Stephen Curtis Chapman song Cinderella.  But, I didn't escape or run away. I didn't cry on the way home.  I didn't weep when I got home.

My Aunt and Uncle came to our house this year for Thanksgiving.  We have never had Thanksgiving at our house.  Ever.  But they had their family Thanksgiving on Sunday so that they could be out here with us this year.  That touched my heart so much.  I decided to try to do something tangible to thank them for coming out.  I found out what kind of pie my uncle likes and made a Double Crust Raisin pie.  I also made a Pecan Pie in case the raisin one didn't turn out.  I took them over tonite because I also made a Pumpkin pie at mom's request and I knew she had made a chocolate cream, and oh my good gawd in heaven there is no way we can possibly eat that much pie if we wait until Thanksgiving to start!

When I pulled into our driveway I saw our family van that we gave them after Dad died sitting in our driveway.  That alone almost did me in.  I almost sat in my car in the driveway and wept.  Almost.

I took all 3 pies into the house and told my aunt and uncle that Suzie Homemaker made a visit and pulled out the raisin pie.  Uncle was very excited.  One tear escape when I told them I made the pie because I wanted to show them how much I appreciate them coming out here this year.  I made it through supper.  I made it through a game of Runs and Sets.  And 3 games of euchre.  But on the way home, Rascall Flatts was on the radio.  That did me in.

I've been crying off and on writing this whole thing.  When I typed "the funeral" the first time up above a few paragraphs I sobbed myself out of breath. twice.  But I came back to this.  I kept on.

I go to work every day.
I walk on my lunch hours.
I pay my bills.
I talk to my friends.
I spend time with my family.

I am not curled up in the fetal position on the floor in the closet.

As I write this, on Thanksgiving Eve, I recognize the God-given strength I carry.  I acknowledge that until this, I didn't know my own strength.  I accept that some consider it impressive for me to be at the place I am, emotionally, mentally, vocationally, relationally, whatever else -ally you can think of.  And, if you have spoken that into my life I thank you.  I thank you for speaking truth where I didn't see it.  I thank you for seeing me in a way and from a perspective that I can't see.

And if you are curled up in the fetal position on the floor in a closet.  The only thing required or requested of you right now?  Just. Keep. Breathing.  Consume some sort of sustenance every once in awhile.  Smell fresh air if you can manage it.  Let the sunlight hit your skin when you can.  And lay all of your weigh and heaviness and apathy and whatever else you struggle with, in God's hands.  Allow him to put his arms around you and hug you and hold you safe and protected.  He will take good care of you.  He will bring you through this.  He has been down this path himself.  He will not leave you.  He will take you down your new "normal" path and show you things you wouldn't have seen otherwise.  I promise you, in the end, You will see how everything has woven together and what purposes it all served.  Until then, just breathe, just let Him hold you.  You will one day realize that you also don't know your own strength.

~Day 24~ Tangible Help

I have spent most of this month talking about the intangible evidences of hope.  About the not visible to the naked eye rays of hope.  Tonite, I realized that hope can be very tangible.  And it is especially vibrant when the tangible thing is an act of goodness or generosity towards someone else.  I will probably have the opportunity in the weeks and months to come to help a friend with a specific need.  I smiled as I considered how to go about accomplishing this task int he weeks to come. 

I know that more than once I have babysat for a friend to allow them to spend a few hours with a spouse and reconnect.

I have helped a few different friends clean, reorganize or rearrange an area of their home.

I have created a CD of beautiful images with Bible verses on them for my students. 

I have purchased countless meals for those students in these years I've been volunteering.

I have shoveled a walk or two.

I have taken meals to new families.

I have helped create newsletters for things at church.

And those are just the material and tangible things I can think of off the top of my head.  That doesn't include praying for others. That doesn't include spending my money on extra gas every week to drive up to whitewater to meet with students.  That doesn't include spending money on conferences or scholarships.  That doesn't include a hug to someone who is hurting, or even just doing any less than spectacular.

Again, if you can do this, you have hope.  If you can allow yourself to refill your gas tank when what you really want is to get cable back so you can sit on your couch and watch useless, brain-numbing television all night every single night, you have hope.  If you can cook a meal for a new family and manage to hold it together and not break down weeping as you hold that brand new bundle of promise, you have hope.  If you can help convert the sanctuary into a reception hall without screaming or throwing things in a fit of frustration, you have hope.  I'm not certain if I'd said it before, but it bears repeating if I have, 

If you can see past your own nose, 

and you choose to look out rather than in,

you have hope.

~day 23~ Nothing lasts forever

We have all sorts of cliches about how things always change.  Nothing Lasts Forever.  Change is Inevitable.  Tomorrow is a New Day.  Because we all know that to be true of life.  99% of things changes over the course of a life.  Usually your name stays the same, but not if you get married or adopted.  Usually your hair color or skin color or eye color stay the same, but not of you dye it or tan or change contacts.  Usually your height and build stay mostly the same, but not if you wear heels, have an accident or gain or lose a large amount of weight.  Usually your family stays the same, but eventually you lose some of them either to death or disagreement.  In my 3 years at the adoption agency I found that the vast majority of people also stayed geographically where they had started, within about a 50 mile radius.  But depending on jobs and callings and relationships that changes too.

Change can be scary and hard and intimidating.  But there is also comfort in change.  There is hope in change.  I can take comfort from recognizing that someday, I will be able to watch a friend get walked down a wedding aisle on her daddy's arm and not want to scream and wail.  Someday I will be able to watch the daddy/daughter dance at a reception and not want to curl up in the fetal position in a closet somewhere.  Someday those things won't sting as badly as they did yesterday.  I am very happy for my friend.  Truly so happy for her.  She has found a match and they made their covenant yesterday and it was beautiful.  And I am so happy for her that she gets to start that journey of life as part of a marriage.  And that is the living, breathing, epitomized definition of bittersweet.  I can be so happy for her, and yet still want to curl up in a ball and weep.

I've heard it said a few different places that you can't feel two emotions at the same time.  Maybe what they mean is two opposite emotions.  Because I could feel happy for my friend yesterday and feel grief over my loss at the same time.  We've all heard of a love/hate relationship.  I can thoroughly enjoy a much too large piece of chocolate cake while also feeling guilty about the overindulgence and what that will mean for my waistline.  I can even be grateful for blessings through our loss while still deeply grieving my dad's death.   We are such complex and emotional beings, why do we buy into it when someone simply states that you can't feel two emotions at once?  We can multitask can't we?  We can cry and laugh at the same time, can't we?  And we've all had that experience of one emotion suddenly sliding into a different emotion unexpectedly.  Laughing so hard with a friend and suddenly being hit with a wave of grief or flash of anger.  Weeping for loss and suddenly remembering a funny story or seeing something ridiculous that makes you laugh.

Change is good.  Ecclesiastes even says it, there is a time for every season.  I can cry for my loss and be happy for my friend's gain.  I can take hope in knowing that someday the pain of my loss won't be quite so sharp as it was yesterday.  I can even take hope in knowing that there are still a few good, decent, Jesus-loving men "out there" that I might just cross paths with someday.  I can take hope in knowing nothing lasts forever.  Hope in knowing that everything changes eventually.  Hope in knowing that tomorrow is a new day.

~day 22~ Laughing yourself silly

Last night I visited a friend and her family.  We sat around a dining room table and ate and laughed.  And then laughed some more.  I don't recall what it was, but I told a joke or a story or someone said something and my friend and I laughed so hard I snorted.  I don't do that very often.  I laugh a lot. I laugh wheezy breathy laughs.  I laugh loud guffaws.  I rarely snort.

Today a good friend got married.  Being older than her and still single combined with this being the first wedding since my dad died I really didn't know how I would handle it.  There were a couple of rough moments for me, but a lot of laughs too.  I sat next to a wonderful friend and her family and we chatted and laughed at little things through nearly the entire ceremony.  We laughed some more as we converted our auditorium type sanctuary into a reception hall.  We laughed while we at.  I laughed with a number of other friends while we were there.

Laughter is good medicine.  Laughter also says you still have hope in life.  If you can be amused by something then you're not too far gone.  If you can watch a sitcom and giggle or even just smile if that's where you're at in your journey, then you can be comforted that you still have some hope left in you.  I'm not going to lie, there have been a lot of days in my life where the hardness and heaviness far outweigh the laughter.  But I am better now than I was a year ago.  Watching my friend dance with her dad to a song written by a man who tragically lost a daughter to a wrong place, wrong time accident was tough, it was super hard.  Hearing her husband vow to be with her "through every loss" was hard.  I thought both times that I might have to simply leave the room and compose myself elsewhere.  But both of those instances are bookended with hearty, good, clean laughs.  Laughing myself silly gives me hope that the future is brighter than it may seem.

This'll be hard to read ......

I don't think anyone would argue this point, but I didn't want My Daddy to die.

I didn't want to lose him at 60.

I didn't want my little Sister to celebrate her 30th birthday 3 days after his death.

I didn't want to celebrate my 33rd a month later.

I don't want to have a Christmas with out him.

or Thanksgiving.

or Labor Day or Memorial Day.

Mom doesn't want to have an Anniversary without him.

I don't want to get married without him. (Though God himself is the only one who knows if that will even happen.)

I don't want to buy a house without him. (If I ever actually want to do that.)

And I feel guilty. Because I think some part of me knew within that first week or two that he wasn't gonna make it. Just one of those weird intuition things. I really only had hope for about 4-5 days between the first oncology appointment when they said they believed it was colon cancer and the day they called to say it was not colon cancer. And even in that, I know that my hope was a desperate kind of hope, that clinging hard to a life raft because you are absolutely certain that your life depends on it kind of hope. The hope against hope that your intuition is wrong.

I laid on this very couch with the pillow that is currently next to me and begged God to let us keep him. To do a Huge Dramatic Crazy Miracle and heal my Daddy. And even in the desperation of that begging I felt the answer was going to be No. And I completely soaked through the pillow with my tears.

I said often in those first weeks that I've had a few losses. That I "know" how to do this grief thing. I have a degree in Social Work for goodness sake! And to be honest, a part of me knew that wasn't enough. A part of me knew that I did not actually know how to do this. A part of me knew that this was gonna be really really hard. That I would struggle to find the right words to try to describe this intensity and depth and .... soul-wrenching-sad-isn't-a-strong-enough-word feeling that hits me. It's almost like I would imagine a punch in the gut would be, but with no real corresponding physical outward sensation.

I would go to church and we'd do worship and on some subconscious level I felt like I was pre-training myself to be able to worship after the loss. I did the same when I went up to campus for InterVarsity large groups. I semi-consciously forced myself to either set my reality aside or to worship in spite of it, almost as if he were already gone. I guess it worked. I'm still able to Praise God. I'm still able to say that God is Good. It makes me sob, but I can say that God only gives Good Gifts to his children, that He has a plan for us.

And I have regrets. I'd love to say I don't, but I do. I wish I'd hugged him more. I wish I'd kissed him more. I wish I'd pushed harder to just spend time with him. I wish I'd asked about the Journal in a Jar I gave him to get him to write more down. I wish I'd spent time over there every single day those last few weeks. And maybe if I'd known it was only going to be 7 weeks, I might have.

I wish I'd given him the letter I wrote telling him I wanted him to fight, but I didn't want to keep him here miserable either. Because what if?

And I know the pat answers. I know God is in control and all the other stuff you might say to that. But in the middle of the night when you're missing your Daddy, you can't help but wonder if your words might have made a difference.

And people try to say such nice things. Things about how they are going to change their ways because the shock of this has woken them up, so to speak.

A cousin said he wanted to be around more and spend time with our extended family. Which is great, but in the darkest moments I think "I would never see that cousin again if it meant I could have 20 more years with my Dad. Hell I'd give up seeing the entire family ever again to have Dad back."

One friend said that this might be a really "creative" time for me because I said how writing is how I process and get through things. And I think "I would never put another word in writing anywhere ever for the rest of my days if it meant I could have my Dad walk me down the aisle."

Even myself, I've said that 'you really figure out who your true, solid friends are when something like this happens.' But when I lay on the couch sobbing and soaking a pillow all the way through I think "I'd keep up two dozen crappy, horrible friendships for the rest of my life if I could have my Daddy not be in a casket."

I never understood before why people wanted to lay down on top of a grave.

I have even tried to tell myself that I am now the one walking this road ahead of most of my friends and I will be "prepared" to walk with them through it when they lose their own parents. and I think "I DON'T WANT TO HELP THEM!!!"

I've never been that great at asking for help. Sometimes I'm fine with asking certain people or certain tasks don't bother me. But some do. And if the person says No, sometimes I go into a serious tailspin mentally and emotionally. Because what does that mean? do they not like me? Are they mad at me? is it truly just a bad time? should I bother to ask again? But no matter what I asked my Dad, including the handful of times he said no or didn't help immediately, i knew it didn't mean anything else. I knew it wasn't a reflection on me or how he felt about me. It was just timing, or a task he didn't look forward to doing, but would do anyway. And people say "If you need anything ....." But how do you UNtrain 30 years of habitual thoughts?

How do you ask someone to check the oil in you car without having a meltdown when they try to teach you instead of just doing it?

How do you ask someone if they have a drill and then to come over to hang one picture, because that's all you need hung right now, one picture?

How do you ask someone else to deal with getting and setting up mouse traps because you want to "be the girl" and just not deal with it?

People told me before that I was too independent .....

How do I justify asking for help with housework when I was never a decent housekeeper to begin with?

How do I justify asking for help rearranging when logically I am certain I can accomplish it eventually on my own? And, more importantly, I would not have asked him to help with that, so why should I ask you?

How do I ask for help when I don't even know what it is that I need?

How do you ask someone to just sit with you while you sob uncontrollably? Like the seriously ugly cry? where you drool and your snot flows freely and you gasp and heave for breath? How do you ask someone to sit with you during that??? How do you admit that's how you spent your night?????

How can things seem so fine and normal? How did I go for a 9 mile bike ride two times this week and didn't even notice the feeling of loss???

How do I find a new normal? a new equilibrium? a new ok? How can I post this for all of you to read??? How can I bare my can't-see-straight grief??? How can I admit that tonight I'm not doing ok, not ok at all. I guess because I feel like putting all this down in writing. Sharing it for my friends and anyone else grieving to see. Getting it out of my head and letting the tears flow and the eyes swell and the face get seriously contorted in grief, that is the way through. That is the only way to take a step or half step towards equilibrium. That is my new normal. This is what my life is right now. And this is what my life will be for awhile. And even if it makes me cry, I have to keep reminding myself that it is ok. All of what I'm feeling and writing is ok. And, today, I am still breathing, I haven't given up. I'm just grieving and whatever that looks like (short of utter incapacitation or suicidal thoughts) is ok.

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning...

breathe in and out all day long.

Then, after a while

I won't have to remind myself

to get out of bed every morning

and breathe in and out"

--Sam Baldwin

An Open Letter To My Church "family"

(hit play first if you want a soundtrack as you read, otherwise come back and hit it later on, I quote the lyrics later.)

And to anyone else who attends a Christian church regularly.

Or listens to worship music regularly.

Or regularly refrains from singing or from singing loudly or from singing badly because of whatever nonsense thing they've made up in their head.

One month ago today my Dad died. On February 22 he went into urgent care, on March 29 we were at UW getting the official diagnosis of Cholangiocarcinoma and on April 13 he was gone.

I will never get to hug my Dad again.

I will never hear his voice again.

I will never kiss his cheek again.

I will never get to laugh at how he never said goodbye when he hung up the phone.

I will never get to have him hang or fix something in my apartment.

or on my car.

I have a lot of nevers ahead of me.

And still I worship.

I noticed it the week after he died. That first Sunday we were in Iowa for the funeral arrangements, but I went to church the very next week I could make it. I also volunteer with college students as part of a christian ministry and they do worship every Thursday.

Random bits of every other song choke me up. Something about the darkness being as light. Something about God holding everything in his hands. Something about God knowing our days before we do. Something trips me up.

And I feel the pressure in my chest. And the burn in my throat. And the welling in my eyes.

And still I sing.

My body tries to hold back the tears and the crying, so my diaphragm and lungs sieze up and make it hard to breathe. So what I do manage to choke out is stilted and stuttery.

But still I sing.

I try to sound pretty when I can. But when it is all I can do to stay standing and not collapse from grief, I focus on not collapsing and on what my heart is saying and less on how pretty or unpretty I sound.

But, still I sing.

Because what else do I have?

Even if I stop worshiping God, that won't bring my Dad back.

Even if I never set foot in another church the rest of my life, that won't allow me to hear Dad's voice.

Even if I burn every Bible and Christian book or novel I've ever owned, that won't give me the opportunity to sit and watch a Nascar race with him.

Not to sound pessimistic or cranky about it,

but what other choice do I have?

I lost someone who was so much more dear to me than I even ever realized he was. And I prayed for healing. I prayed for a miracle. I prayed, specifically, that God would make my dad well on this side of the veil. Because I know that once God took him home he wouldn't be sick anymore, but I didn't want God to take him home. I wanted him to stay here and walk down a church aisle with me someday. Instead I walked him down a church aisle with my Mom and Sister.

That wasn't a decision I got to make.

So I praise. And I cry. But I praise. I sing off key and off kilter. I sing half words and partial sentences because that's all I can choke out. When I can't get any breath past my vocal cords I praise in my heart and mind because I know that He can hear that.

So I say to all you who will be attending church with me on Sunday. Whether you be in the same actual building, or in any building you choose. I don't care what your reason is. I don't care what your justification is. I don't care what excuse you think you have. I am asking you to praise in the Good so that you are built up to praise in the Bad. Because, trust me, Bad will come. Hopefully not as fast or hard or grief-filled as mine is, but it will come. You will lose someone you love. Someone will get chronic or terminally sick. Something will happen eventually in your life, and I want you to be able to say

As the thunder rolls,

I barely hear you whisper through the rain

'I am with you,'

and as your mercy falls

I'll raise my hands

and praise the God who gives

... and takes away."

He doesn't care what your voice sounds like to the woman in front of you.

He doesn't care if you are clapping on beat or not.

He doesn't care if you're sitting or standing or kneeling.

He only cares that you are looking to Him.

That you are seeking Him.

That you are recognizing Him.

That you desire to Praise Him, even if you can't quite do it yet.

That you desire to be closer to Him, even if all you want to do is beat your fists on Him.

That you are honest in where you're at and what's going on in your deepest heart.

Join me this week? In being honest? In Praising Him in truth and love, and not in melody or appearance. Will you Praise Him in this storm? with me? Because I can't do this alone. You can't either. Can we bear each other's burdens and Praise Him together this week?

But once again,

I say amen,

and it's still raining.

.....

I will Praise you in This Storm

I will Lift My Hands

You are who You Are

No matter where I am

Every tear I cry,

you hold in your hand.

you've never left my side

though my heart is torn

I will Praise You in This Storm.

My Daddy Died Last Week.

Only 7 weeks after his first visit to Urgent Care. He thought he'd pulled a muscle, but it wasn't going away. He asked my mom to take him up to Urgent Care. That doctor could tell right away, just from feeling around his abdomen, that Dad's liver was enlarged. (what?!?) So they ordered a CT scan which showed tumors in his liver. They had to order a 2nd CT scan because the first had not scanned his lungs, and he smoked since he was like 14 or something. That scan actually came back clear. Next was the liver biopsy and subsequent colonoscopy and biopsy of the colon. Liver came back cancer, but somehow not technically Liver Cancer. We began planning under the assumption that his history of Crohn's disease would lead us to colon cancer. Believe it or not, aside from a full out miracle, I was praying it was colon cancer, because my understanding is that colon cancer responds very well to treatment, and liver cancer does not. We saw the oncologist, set up appts to start treatments, and the next day cancelled it all because the colon biopsies came back negative for cancer.

Then we were referred up to UW in Madison to the Gastrointerological Oncology department. They reviewed Dad's tests and scans etc. We met with a surgeon who told us the tumors make surgery not feasible because there wouldn't be enough healthy liver left over. They even showed us the CT scan of his liver. No less than 3/4 of it was tumors, and that was to my not-medically-trained eyes. Then we met with a Chemo doctor (didn't know you could actually specialize in that) and she was very compassionate and careful in what she said, but she told us that chemo might buy us time, and it would only buy us months. Two weeks and one day later he was gone. He passed at home. Surrounded by family. Daughters holding his hands. Family praying the rosary. Leaving peacefully. We said what we wanted to say before The Strong Drugs took full effect. The priest was there to administer The Sacraments before they took effect. He went directly to Heaven. But I still want him here with us. Healthy. Mowing the lawn. Getting mom's milk. Taking care of His Girls like he always did.

We met with a GI doc early on who said they no longer give time frames on prognosis because they've had patients that they may give a few months and they live 5-6 years. And I thought to myself

"Five years isn't enough!"

We got 5 weeks after that.

I just keep thinking things that sorta don't make sense. Things that everyone who has lost someone they love deeply thinks. Things that everyone knows don't make sense. Things that none of us can change. But somehow, being on this side of the thinking, it feels stupid to even think it.

We're not supposed to be here.

He's not supposed to be gone.

I want My Daddy back.

He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.

My Dad was not a Talker. He wasn't a particularly affectionate man. There have been times in my life where I wished he'd been different. Where I'd wish he'd hug me more. I'd wish he'd talk to me about deep and serious things and not just whether or not my oil had been changed recently. And right now, all I want is for him to be sitting in the computer room at their house playing spider solitaire and watching whatever is on cable.

A family friend got married in August. She got to dance with my Dad at her wedding. I have lovely pictures of them. And I catch myself feeling jealous and hoping she realizes how lucky she is to have danced with him, because I won't get to.

I struggled with depression before. I knew what lethargy and apathy were. I knew what it was to not care. I have achieved a whole new level of those in the last week and a half. And I know I have a right to be sad and a right to feel depressed and for today it's ok. But I already wonder how long it will last. What will my home look like if/when I snap out of it. Will people stop checking on me before I make it out the other side. How many nights will I cry alone. How many times will I slip and think of him or talk of him as if he's still here. Do people think it's weird that I don't frame all my conversations about before and after. Do I care of they do. Will I manage to lose some weight through this or will I pack it on with comfort food.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to be here.

I don't want this to be real.

Do they see it in my eyes? Can people tell something is wrong? What did that girl at TJ Maxx think when I returned the bag and cried because the socks I bought him because his feet were so swollen were on that receipt? Am I phoning it in already? Is it weird that I can go days without crying? Have my neighbors heard my sobbing yet?

I don't want that figurine. I don't want these plants. I don't want the roses. I don't want to think about thank you notes. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS!!!

Last week as we prepared for the funeral arrangements Mom and I talked. I told her that some people think the last steps of grieving are moving on and getting over it. I said that when it comes to losing a loved one, a person, those are BS. You don't move on, you don't get over it. But you do find a New Normal. She agreed. Later on she told me she decided she was going to make Dad proud of her. She decided she is going to do things and keep going and go to work and visit with people and stuff. And she was going to make him proud of her. And I was proud of her for deciding it.

Tonight I wonder if I'll make him proud. I wonder if I'll find my equilibrium before 2012. I wonder when I'll figure out what New Normal is. Yes, I realize this is all still very fresh and new and grieving is a process and mourning takes time. But when left to my own devices I tend to wallow. I want to mourn and grieve. I keep reminding myself that this is ok. The ugly cry is acceptable. The sobbing without breathing followed by gasping sobs is ok. That standing in my kitchen waiting for the pasta to boil with tears running down my face is ok. I am feeling things, and that's good. I am sad, and that's right. and somehow in spite of that, and my degree in social work and my classes in psychology and having lost a few people in my life ....... somehow none of that prepared me for the depth of grief that floods me. It is so much deeper and stronger and more intense than I expected it to be. And I find myself very glad that I am at home as it washes through me.

Someday. Someday I'll find my equilibrium. Someday it won't be quite so intense. Someday I won't wonder what other people think. Someday I'll realize I have found my New Normal and I'm functioning well again.

But for today I weep.

I happen to like 8-year-old boys

There is an episode of friends where Joey and Chandler (and maybe the girls) make fun of Ross for the way that he flirts. He decides to *prove* to them that he can get any girl he wants, and uses the pizza delivery girl for his first test. His opening "line" is to tell her that he happens to like 8-year-old boys. Earlier she had mentioned she'd gotten a haircut and felt like it looked like an 8-year-old boys cut. Clearly, this is, in fact, not a good way to get a girl to like you. Suffice it to say that the whole interaction goes downhill from there.

I explain this story to say, I don't flirt. I'm not good at it. If I realize I'm doing it I would be likely to say things like Ross would say. So, I just don't. I tell people this. They don't believe me. Tonight, I have case in point.

Went to a wedding reception tonight for a family friend who is my age who I have known forever. It was 1030, I was tired from dancing and I do want to go to church tomorrow morning. I needed to get home to go to bed. As I was walking out of the building I saw "dad-figure" guy I know so I stepped over to say good night to him. There was a younger man standing next to dad-figure. I chatted dad-figure up a bit and told him a joke and he asked if my parents were still inside. I said yeah and started to tell him a story which included a mention of my mom sneaking out between the ceremony and reception to go to church. dad-figure asked if she was praying for my dad (her husband). I told him no, she was probably praying for me! He asked what for and I told him that she thinks I need a good man. dad-figure asks me something about it and I answer that they're hard to come by, or something to that effect. (as i type this out i realize this part of our conversation is a bit hazy) Now comes the important part ... are you paying attention?? younger-guy interjects and the conversation looks like this

YG 'what are you looking for??' in a quizzical tone.
me 'well, he's gotta be a church guy.'
YG 'and what else?'
me 'he's gotta make me laugh.'
YG (something like) 'it's hard to find a guy to make you laugh?'
me 'a church guy, around here, harder than you'd think!'

and dad-figure is talking to me again and i'm all distracted there chatting with him. And, being who I am, I start another story to do with my mom and church or something. A family walks out of the building and dad-figure starts talking to them, mid-way through a sentence of mine. Now I have finally gotten to a point where I don't take this personally, and I don't stand around waitingwaitingwaiting to finish my story. I simply move on to the next thing in my world and realize that maybe my story wasn't interesting or funny enough or maybe he was too many sheets to the wind to really appreciate it anyway.

So, I just give up and start walking away to my car. Smiling to myself because I've known dad-figure forever also and that's just how he is, and I'm tired and want to get my sweats on. Now, again, are you paying attention, 'cause here is the truly important thing for you to notice. As I'm walking away, a good 3-5 yards from dad-figure and young-guy, the young guy calls "Ma'am?" kinda loudly, so I turn to see if he's talking to me if I dropped something or who he's talking to. There is no other "ma'am" anywhere in the vicinity so I answer him "Yeah?" To which he says 'It was nice to meet you.' I think, remember that hazy recollection earlier, that I said 'yeah, you too!' and kept right on walking. Smiling, but clearly walking away.

As I'm driving home I'm pondering how amusing and interesting it would be to have met someone special right there. And what a hard road he could potentially have trying to get in touch with me. My parents are in there, but he'd have to have been hit pretty deep by cupid's arrow to go to them right away. There are a number of people who know exactly who I am, but I don't think ANY of them know my number or how else to get ahold of me. One of them is a friend on facebook, so she might be able to get us in touch. But, to find her or get someone else to find me and get him contact info, would take some serious work and effort on his part. Now, to be honest, that is absolutely perfectly wonderfully fine for me, if he's gotta get through a few hoops to even ask me out. Also, I fully realize that it is entirely possible he was just curious, possibly a tad tipsy, possibly he has a mental disorder that makes it impossible for him to not ask questions that occur to him at the exact moment they do occur to him. I dunno. I just drove home amused by the whole thing.

Now, here is the reason I told you this whole Ross-flirting story. I get home, get some chai tea ready, get my pj's on, and get ready to wash my face and suddenly, it dawns on me ...

I should have introduced myself!!!

Either when we first started chatting with dad-figure or especially after he called out halfway across the parking lot just to say it was nice to meet me!! d'oh!! I am so incredibly oblivious sometimes!! Then I wonder if it appeared I was 'running' away or anything, would that deter him, will he talk to anyone inside, etc etc etc. Also, I should have elaborated more during the first whole conversation!!

And all the while I realize a few things. 1) If I was truly so compelling from the start, then my walking away shouldn't deter him all that much from trying to figure out who I am and how to get a hold of me. 2) If he isn't truly interested, then my walking away is to my benefit. 3) I am ridiculous and over think the vast majority of things going on around me. but at least 4) they make amusing fodder for my blog and for you to read.

All in all, this birthday wasn't bad at all. I never dreamt that 31 would actually be harder than 30 but somehow 31 feels older. I feel like I qualify for a different 'group' or something. Like I couldn't date a 28 year old anymore or something. Which is a bizarre thing to think. But, like I said, all in all this has ended pretty well. And there haven't even been presents yet!!! Presents will come tomorrow.