It Has Been Quite A Year

(song: Aperture/artist: Sleeping At Last)


It's a new year, y'all! Thank sweet Baby Jesus, 2016 is OVER!

I don't know who created this, but I love that person.

I rang in 2016 on a cane, then later in the year, my dad died. So, yeah, it pretty much sucked. I'm still dealing with all of that. Suffice it to say, I'm still sad and I still cry at least once a day (usually for less than 30 seconds, but occasionally the wave hits hard and it's a long, ugly-face cry), and I still struggle with my anger. I've got great support, and I'll get there. My feet are much better but I still have numbness in my shins and mild foot-drop in my right foot so my physical therapist advised against any running until I'm not a risk to myself. I've got great support, and I'll get there.

My goal for the new year is simply to keep getting better. Keep doing my physical therapy, stay in psychotherapy, eat healthy, exercise, be a good person/wife/mom, be patient...keep getting better. That seems like a good place to start, right? Oh, and I want to write more, eat less, lose weight, learn guitar, sing more, run again...but that's it!
 
But hey, despite all the sad shit that happened in 2016,  a lot of good came out of it. The trips to Georgia during my dad's illness afforded me the opportunity to strengthen and renew relationships. The experience healed a lot of lingering childhood angst.  The past year would have been impossible without the support of my southern sisters (and mamas), or their northern counterparts. I learned I have really good people. My affiliation with Achilles brought incredible new friendships into my life.

Jan 3 with my beloved Achilles Brooklyn family at NASDAQ's closing bell. An extraordinary start to the new year.

I joined a grief support group. I rediscovered the reason I moved NYC - I saw plays, concerts and dance performances. I participated in a race with a group of women I had never met in person. I participated in races even though I couldn't run. I learned to appreciate just being able to move. I learned to appreciate the little things. I listened, I talked, I laughed a lot.  

I don't know how 2017 will end for me, but I sure am happy with the way it's starting. My focus is forward and positive. One step at a time. 

A cane in January, a race on Thanksgiving. Not bad for almost a year. (Color scheme purely coincidental.)

Now I Can Find Relief. I Grieve.

(song: I Grieve/artist: Peter Gabriel)

My therapist told me to write. Doctor’s orders.

My dad died. 

Every time I write it or say it, it still feels like the first time. 

My dad died. 

My dad is dead.

My dad was old. 

He was one of those “he had a full life” cases. 

He was 86. 

My dad died when he was 86.

My dad started 24-hour oxygen in June of 2015. I spent the last 8 months traveling back-and-forth from NY to GA to spend as much time with him as I could, except January when I was under strict orders not to travel after my back surgery. I called my dad the morning of my surgery and demanded he stay alive until I could fly again. We laughed but we knew that neither of us got that choice so we said goodbye every time we talked.

 

Feb. 2016 - We both survived my surgery, and for awhile were cane twins.

I was lucky because I knew he was dying. I knew that every conversation I had with my dad was one chat closer to the last. I audio-recorded our conversations and made short videos of him telling stories and jokes. I wrote parts of his eulogy while he was still alive so that I could share my memories with him. I knew the end was coming and I know how lucky I am to have been able to say goodbye over the course of 9 months. I mistakenly believed that this gift of time and knowledge would make things easier when I became a member of the Dead Parent Club.

But, no. It still came as a shocking blow to get that call on May 12^th. I had been willfully ignoring the impact that the end-of-life experience with my dad would have, and how abrupt the end would feel even though we knew it was coming. In some ways, the past 9 months with my dad was more meaningful than the collective 41 years I had with him. In every way, right now.

I feel broken. I look normal on the outside but I am hollow on the inside. I'm so angry. I want to go for a run, but I can't. I still can't fucking run! Even if I could run, I feel painfully awkward when I'm outside of my home. I feel so different right now. I have all the textbook grieving stuff going on – intermittent waves of sobbing (occasionally in public), constant fatigue but inability to stay asleep, forgetfulness, guilt, self-loathing, weight gain, anger…lots and lots of anger. In short, I'm a mess. 

I just want to hide. And that's exactly what I'm going to do when I go back to Georgia for summer vacation. The last trip of the year. Time to unplug and take care of me. 

Have a great summer, y'all. See you in September.

Let the healing begin.