My Beautiful Mess

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.

I’ve been trying to tell a story - a story about my dad that began on October 29, 2008. I have found that harder to do than I anticipated. Remembering the details of those 3 weeks is something I am obviously not ready to do. Maybe, in time, I will go back and journal the specifics of some moments. But for now I will summarize, here in this post, about our loss. There are current day-to-day moments that are entrenched with emotions of loss and grief that I need to process on this blog. In order for those to make sense, I must tell you this part of the story….

Dad had surgery on November 5th, a surgery that was to take approximately 6 hours, if all went as planned. It didn’t go as planned. About  3 1/2 hours into the surgery, the surgeon found us all in the waiting room to tell us that Dad had stage IV pancreatic cancer - it had already spread to his liver and stomach. We were told there would be no recovery from this; treatment was not an option, and we were informed that Dad had 4-6 months to live.

Chemotherapy was discussed but only for what the medical world calls paliative care, that is to say that chemo might make his quality of life a little better and maybe a little longer. But the first priority was recovery from the surgery which left a 6-inch vertical incision down his gut.

Dad was in the hospital for a week, went home for not quite 2 days and was back in the hospital on November 13th, if I remember right. What I do remember right is that we received a call on Sunday November 16th that his kidneys were shutting down, and we drove back to Texas. We were not to have the 4-6 months the surgeon had spoke of. Dad died on November 19, 2008 at the age of 61.

I am thankful we were with him those final days. I am thankful he did not have to endure difficult treatment or months of pain. I am thankful that he is completely healed now and spending eternity with The Almighty. But I am sad. Very, very sad. He was a precious Daddy and Papa. I miss him terribly. I know that with time, it will not hurt so much. But I am also aware that life from now on will have a hole. I have many stories - because life with Dad was never dull! He was quite a character. You would’ve liked him…most folks did. And me, well, I loved him. And I still do.