My Beautiful Mess

My dad and I had a conversation last summer, before he ever got sick, during which he informed me that it was his desire to be cremated once he died. Not ever having had to face such an issue before, I felt at that time that this was an individual decision - if Dad wanted to be cremated, that was his choice and therefore, okay with me.

At the time of his funeral in November, I became very thankful for this decision. I don’t think I would have been able to see him in a coffin. And I believe I might have just totally lost it if I had had to watch that coffin being lowered into the ground.

As time has moved on, however, I have at times now wished I had a place to go “visit” Dad - a place to try to connect with him somehow. But this summer, it dawned on me - I have that place every time I step into my backyard. I love to garden, to work in the yard, to plant and work in the soil. This love has been passed on to me by my dad and was passed onto him by his mother (this love also comes from my mother and her grandmother). I have several very tangible connections growing in my yard every year, growing from seeds that I received from Dad.

One is my morning glories (I was wrong, Janet, I have morning glories not moon flowers!). They are just now starting to climb the trellis but will soon take over this entire space and produce pretty purple flowers every morning:

Also making a comeback every year is my hearty hisbiscus, which again, I grew from seeds from Dad - from his hibiscus. It too is getting ready to bloom:

This is what  I will soon see (pic from last summer):

Dad always grew a mass of sunflowers along one part of his fence on the side of his house. Frequently, my boys helped him plant his seeds when we would go visit and then they would get to see the fruits of their labor:

So last year, I planted a few seeds and got 3 big sunflowers. This year we have at least doubled the amount we planted and have started calling them our Papa flowers:

Another feature in my Dad’s yard that they boys loved was a flat birdfeeder he made himself. They helped him fill this feeder up everytime we went to visit:

Knowing how much that feeder meant to all of us, my precious husband made us one this winter for our yard. He found some wood scraps of my dad’s (he was also a woodworker) in his shop and made me this….I am so very, very grateful to have it:

So as I am out there watering, I think a lot about Dad. I think of the times growing up when we would wonder where Dad went, only to find him watering the plants outside. I think of how I would call him to ask him what was wrong with this plant or another in my yard. I think of all that he could have taught my boys about planting and growing things. And I think about how thankful I am for the seeds he has planted in our lives.

Today I am 36 and a half.

Today marks 6 months that my dad has been gone.

Since April, my husband’s grandpa and my grandpa have passed away.

Grief is an interesting thing.

I have learned that no one experiences it the same. But it is something that, if it happens in your life, needs to be experienced. Some people choose to ignore it. Some people bind themselves to it. Possibly somewhere in the middle of those is best…but hard to find - or at least hard to maintain. To not let it define you - but yet it is a defining moment. And I thought I would have more to say but…

today that is all I know to say.

Miss you, Daddy.

Last week was a rough one. I find it harder to write here during weeks when the grief is heavy. I was caught off-guard last week, more than once, by the physical and subtle emotional qualities of grief - especially when they became not quite so subtle. It began on Monday.

I had an acquaintance come over to help me organize the photos that sit in my closet and in my computer (something I had hoped to not ever do!). While flipping through an album with her, I came upon pictures of Dad…and I stopped breathing. I actually had to tell myself Breathe, Jenn. Take a breath. It was only momentary but it jolted me. I have photos of Dad around the house…why did these photos do this to me?

My mom is a counselor, working on her LPC (Licensed Professional Counselor) and she volunteers as a group facilitator at a grief center. Ironic, huh. She said, “Jenn, the photos around the house are planned. The others weren’t.” Makes sense, but yet I was surprised at myself. [Note: Mom and Dad had been divorced for 12 years. Though I know she has some grief too since they were married for 25 years, she is able to separate some of that out, bless her.]

Then on Tuesday, I had a frustrating day at work. Because I am part-time and because the agency is going through a re-model, I have no permanent place to do work. Last week, I had to float from computer to computer to complete my work. Now, even on a good day that would frustrate my very AR/Type-A personality. But this was not a good day. It was all I could do to stay the 4 hours I was to work. Immediately upon leaving, I call my precious husband (bless him too!) and completely fall apart. I am sobbing uncontrollably. And I feel like a freak. What is happening to me?

Because it’s not like I can’t function on some level. I don’t go around thinking about Dad all day or thinking about how sad I am. I do the cooking and cleaning. I go to were I need to go. I have even been exercising. But it all takes…so…much…energy. I am so stinkin’ tired all of the time.

Today, my precious mom again gave me a saving grace. She emailed me a hand-out she had in her “grief file”. The title of it is YOUR ARE NOT GOING CRAZY. This is what it says, along with my thoughts:

Normal grief involves a variety of characteristics that are common after a death.  Most people who suffer the loss of a loved one experience one or more of the following:

Feel as though the loss isn’t real.  May feel numb or feel that this has not really happened. (I’m not really doing this one. But I do have moments that I feel numb or that I just don’t care about anything.)

Experience bodily distress of some type.  Tightness in the throat or heaviness in the chest.  Empty feeling in the stomach and loss of appetite.  Tired all of the time.  Difficulty sleeping. (yes to almost all of those.)

Lack of ability to function as before the death.  Feel their mood change over the slightest things, cry unexpectedly and at unexpected times.  Forget or don’t finish things they start.  Feel restless and look for activity.  Find it hard to concentrate.  Lack of organization. (this is so me - all of it. again, really messes with my normal Type-A self.)

Be preoccupied with the life of the deceased.  Need to tell and retell the experience of the loved one’s death. (sometimes - depends on the who I am with)

Be preoccupied with the image of the deceased.  May sense the loved one’s presence, hear their voice, or see their face.  Find themselves expecting the person to walk in the door, etc.  Dream of them frequently. (I have had one bizarre dream with Dad in it. But otherwise, I don’t do much of this - I think because he lived in Texas and I didn’t see him all of the time.)

Feel anger, guilt or hostility which may be directed toward the deceased, themselves, family members, friends, God, medical professionals, or the circumstances of the death itself. (I am not filled with anger but I do feel very cheated - we were suppose to have 4-6 months, not 2 weeks.)

Feel as though they need to take care of other people around them by politely not mentioning their feelings of loss. (yes, I do this.)

Today is a new week. I hope it is not quite as rough. Maybe it helps to know that this might be my temporary new “normal”. I know it won’t last forever. And I know, overall, I am O.K. But I am also acutely aware that grief is a process; this is something I have to go through. I know He is with me. I know He is my Hope and my Comfort. And I know that I miss my dad. All at the same time.