Two summers ago, we were at Clear Lake on a camping trip over Labor Day weekend. We met some friends for a day of boating. I was asked if I wanted to waterski, which at the time I thought I was a great idea and great fun! Now, let me caveat that 'great idea' with the fact that I hadn't been up on skis in 20 years (but you know the whole riding a bike analogy...) and it was a windy day and the lake was very rough.
So I jumped in - I wasn't anticipating the water to be SO COLD. Immediately, my breathing became shallow as I swam over to the other boat to get the skis and put them on. I swam out aways from the boat and grabbed the rope, gave my "I'm ready!" wave. The first pull of the boat pulled me right over. (Yes, I let go of the rope.) As I spat out the lake water, I was having trouble calming myself down because even though I had a ski vest on, the waves were still crashing into me, splashing water in my face. The second pull, I ALMOST made it up, but went down again - this time underneath the surface of the water. For a moment, I thought I was drowning - or what I thought drowning must feel like. I got to the surface and started to hyperventilate. The friend that was out in the water with me kept me focused and looking at him to calm me down. On the third pull, I just let go of the rope and didn't even try. I was done.
This story could also describe my last month. By the way, today has been a month since my dad's death.
At first, the death experience was so new that you really think that you can get through the process without too much trouble (what was Kubler-Ross thinking anyway?!?!) - especially with a life jacket (friends and family). Even that first week or two home, I felt that I wasn't "too bad"- I'd have some sad moments, but really felt that I was handling things.
Now I feel as I did on my 2nd try - almost getting up, being pulled under and the sensation of drowning - even with my life jacket - the waves are coming faster and are hitting me harder. It's not just waves of grief, but the waves of apathy when I don't feel like getting out of bed or working or running my kids around; or waves of anger because I can't stand one more person asking me how I'm doing. I can feel myself literally swallowing my grief and sadness and it sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach. Some days (like today), I feel like hyperventilating. I try to rise above it, but there's nothing to stand on; no one to stare at me to keep me focused. My feet just dangle below me.
I don't want to try. I have let go of the rope. I am done.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Who Do You Think You Are?
Who do you think you are when you took my daddy away?
The cancer that came and caused all this pain.
The hope that was drained...and no one to blame.
The sadness and anger about to drive me insane.
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are when you tell me you know what I'm going through?
I well up with anger and tears.
I fight back the yelling and smears.
I sit back and listen and hear (and understand).
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are when you tell me you're sorry for my loss?
You are choked up and can't look me in the eye.
You give me a hug and make me cry.
You are my strength and give me the will to try.
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are when your life goes unchanged?
I become afraid of an unremembered life.
I wonder when you'll meet your strife.
I am sad for his grandchildren and his wife.
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
The cancer that came and caused all this pain.
The hope that was drained...and no one to blame.
The sadness and anger about to drive me insane.
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are when you tell me you know what I'm going through?
I well up with anger and tears.
I fight back the yelling and smears.
I sit back and listen and hear (and understand).
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are when you tell me you're sorry for my loss?
You are choked up and can't look me in the eye.
You give me a hug and make me cry.
You are my strength and give me the will to try.
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are when you come to support my family and I?
You express your sympathy and love.
You tell me it's going to be ok and he's there above.
You send me a card, a plant or bring me grub.
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are when your life goes unchanged?
I become afraid of an unremembered life.
I wonder when you'll meet your strife.
I am sad for his grandchildren and his wife.
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
Friday, April 1, 2011
Lost in the Fog
If you've ever seen the movie Gone With the Wind, you are familiar with Scarlett's recurring dream where she is lost in a fog and frightened because she can't find her way. Her dream actually comes true as she's running home to Rhett in the fog: lost, scared and alone. (Then he leaves her with his famous line!)
I feel like that. I've been running in a fog this week.
Scientifically, fog is just a low lying cloud when the dew point meets or exceeds the air temperature. Emotionally, my grief/tears (dew point) is meeting or exceeding my ability to deal with my reality/existence (air temperature). It's created a fog in my head.
Granted, some days are better than others, but it's causing me to forget things. I've started every class with "Remind me what we did last time we met..." Let me caveat that with the fact that I see my students every other day, (but still...). I went to meetings this week not knowing what the meetings were about and just kind of muddled through. I drive places and can't recall having been there. I walk through the halls with this look about me. I can't describe the look, but the way people look at me and react to me, I know that I must have a different look to me. I'm having trouble remembering names. I'm misplacing things.
Ok, I'll admit...I turn 45 at the end of this month, so the forgetfulness may just be me just getting to middle age. It may be that I'm overscheduled and running kids around. It may be that I'm "mom" and "dad" this week because my husband is working late every night on a job.
But I don't think so...because in the midst of this fog...this forgetfulness...I also feel lost and frightened.
And soon, people's patience with me and my grief will wane and their response to my fog and forgetfulness may be, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
I feel like that. I've been running in a fog this week.
Scientifically, fog is just a low lying cloud when the dew point meets or exceeds the air temperature. Emotionally, my grief/tears (dew point) is meeting or exceeding my ability to deal with my reality/existence (air temperature). It's created a fog in my head.
Granted, some days are better than others, but it's causing me to forget things. I've started every class with "Remind me what we did last time we met..." Let me caveat that with the fact that I see my students every other day, (but still...). I went to meetings this week not knowing what the meetings were about and just kind of muddled through. I drive places and can't recall having been there. I walk through the halls with this look about me. I can't describe the look, but the way people look at me and react to me, I know that I must have a different look to me. I'm having trouble remembering names. I'm misplacing things.
Ok, I'll admit...I turn 45 at the end of this month, so the forgetfulness may just be me just getting to middle age. It may be that I'm overscheduled and running kids around. It may be that I'm "mom" and "dad" this week because my husband is working late every night on a job.
But I don't think so...because in the midst of this fog...this forgetfulness...I also feel lost and frightened.
And soon, people's patience with me and my grief will wane and their response to my fog and forgetfulness may be, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
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