Some Down Time

Well, we're back. It was difficult to leave my Mom there alone. It was wrenching to walk away from my Dad's grave. It feels so strange to say "I love you, Daddy" while looking at a pile of cold dirt and funeral flowers and drawings. And then to walk away? And to get to the car and have my cell phone ring and hear my Mother calling and sobbing as it was her first good cry by herself alone in their home was painful.

I have such a mix of emotions--I'm sad, I'm down, I hurt, I miss my Daddy, I feel strange, I feel angry, I find myself going over and over memories and things we've said and done and his past few weeks, months, years. How can he be gone? Sometimes (and I'm being honest here--please don't judge me; my feelings are raw) I find myself doubting/questioning/angry at God rather than taking comfort in what we believe. It feels like little comfort sometimes as you wonder how much of it is something we hold on to to help us through. Why don't we know more about what's next? We have lots of wonderful beliefs but such little detail. I've talked with Mark about this and he's right in his response to my "Why don't we know more?" question . . . "Is Faith too simplistic an answer?" I know. And deep down, I don't blame God or anything like that. I really don't. But sometimes it doesn't seem right. Why is death part of the plan? Why couldn't we all simply twinkle? Why the suffering? Why did my Dad have to suffer for so long, so many years? What is he doing now? Can he see us? Can he see his little girl hugging his sweater, taking in how it smells like him, longing for his strong, loving hug? Can he see her crying in pain and sorrow as she types this? IT HURTS. It hurts. And it sucks. I don't know why I'm not one of those people who slaps a smile on her face and goes forward with absolute strength and faith and fortitude. I don't feel much of those things right now. And I'm not faithless or a bad person for it either. I'm not being negative or self-pitying. I'm simply dealing with the feelings as they are instead of pushing them away, as difficult as it is. It's part of grief and I refuse to beat myself up about them or lecture myself, or hear anyone else's lectures about it. They are my feelings and they are real and they are painfully raw.

I have lots of wonderful blessings and am overall happy. I am grateful and happy. And I miss my Daddy. And I hurt. I miss him so much and can hardly believe that he's not at my Mom's house with her, calling her, shuffling around the house, eating food, watching tennis. I find myself longing to know what he'd love to tell me. While helping my Mom go through his stuff, I found his very neatly handwritten life story and conversion story. Treasures. I can hear his voice as I read them--his absolutely endearing and lovable broken English and all. Oh, how I miss him.

I'm behind on so very many things and I hardly have it in me to keep up. It's a miracle in and of itself that I'm not completely nonfunctional with all of what we've been doing these past months and dealing with my Dad's death on top of that. We're so grateful for good family and friends who bless our lives with their help and concern and love. Please don't take offense when I say that I need a few days. I want down time. Too much of it is very bad for me and I know that. I can certainly use some fun and girls' nights out and things like that, too. But not yet. I'm grieving and part of that is letting it out without immediate hugs or comfort. It's okay to cry. I find myself crying in restaurants, at home, out running errands. Mark and I rented a movie yesterday--Waitress. One character was an old man who practically yelled at the waitress "No Ice!" Mark and I both started laughing without needing to say a word about why--we both understand and know that that is sooooo my Dad--"Coke. No ice." Oh and when that waitress would forget and put ice in the cup? My Dad would look so disappointed and shake his head as if sighing and throwing his hands in the air. Oh, how I miss him. My Daddy. My sweet, gentle Daddy.