Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin', into the future...

I would be so remiss if I didn't use this image for this particular post. If my Dad has thumbs in heaven, he is definitely giving two thumbs-ups for this one!  

I mean, I don't know why he wouldn't have thumbs in heaven, because he had them on earth. But the ones he had on earth were cremated with the rest of his moral remains and are now in one of five vessels (or in any combination thereof).  And I didn't come here today to expand upon my thoughts and beliefs about what heaven is like, although believe you me, I have plenty of thoughts and beliefs to share about that topic now. And lots and lots of questions about it, too.  More than I ever would have thought possible.  It's funny, the things you don't really THINK about until a loved one dies. 

But, I digress.

Week 8 and counting.  Practically at 8.5 weeks by now, but that's okay.  That's why I said "and counting".  I didn't write on the actual week 8 day.  I spent that Thursday at my Mom's house, which is weird to say "my Mom's house" instead of "my parents' house", and I don't mean to intentionally exclude my Dad from that, but it's just a technicality.  Some days I'm the only person my Mom talks to, and I really wish there was more I could do about that.  But I've already learned an important thing about myself -- I can't fix everything.  

At the beginning of my Dad's diagnosis with dementia, I spent countless insert-amount-of-time-here beating myself up over the fact that I couldn't fix him.  I was a nurse, I was his daughter, and I was helpless.  It took me a long time to come to terms with that and realize it was okay. It wasn't my job to fix him. In the nurse v daughter battle, I'm a daughter first and foremost and always.  I can't be both.  I mean, I can, but when it comes time to only be one, and there are many times when I can only be one, I'm a daughter. And it really doesn't matter, I could've been a freakin' neurosurgeon for all it mattered, because it didn't matter.  That's the point.  All the knowledge and education and experience of anything in the world did not matter in the end.  What mattered was the love.  

So anyway, I'm having to use this now with my Mom.  My Mom is physically pretty healthy, as far as I can tell.  She doesn't like going to the doctor, so she avoids it as much as possible.  Until she broke her hip a few years ago, she hadn't been to the doctor since she birthed me.  I don't want to give too much of her personal info out here, so I won't.  But there are times now when it's like, I have to just remind myself, it's not up to me to fix things.  I can listen. I can offer advice if asked. I can, for lack of a better analogy, refer to the proper specialists when I know something is out of my wheelhouse.  But I can't and won't take on something that I know isn't my problem to fix.  Especially not when I have enough of my own problems to work on right now.  

And I pray. I pray a LOT.  God is probably tired of hearing from me, that's how much I pray.  (Kidding! I know He would NEVER get tired of hearing from me!!)  Sometimes it's full-out, stop everything I'm doing and completely and totally focus everything on praying, making sure I follow some kind of structure (addressing God, giving thanks, asking for specific blessings, ending with the Lord's Prayer).  Sometimes it's just a quick thought (Hey God, I'm kinda worried about blah-blah-blah...) or request (I just read so-and-so's message or CaringBridge post, please let them know I'm thinking about them...) or a question (Dear God, what is the point of dementia?) but I converse with God in my head an awful dang lot.  

My point was that, oh yeah, Thursday I was with my Mom and we were both in bad moods.  Me because it was almost Friday, and her because, probably the same reason, but also because she spends like the first few hours that I'm there just venting and I just let her go off because that's what she needs to do.  And I was really starting to think that I maybe shouldn't go over there on Thursdays or Fridays anymore, because those are not typically my best days and, after all, I need to look after my own mental health as well, right?  But then things start to even out and turn around and I figure, alright, I'll stay.  I did promise my Dad I'd take care of my Mom.  

But, for the first time since my Dad died, I was scheduled to work in the office on Friday.  

And you know what? That actually worked out really well.  I was in a better mood than I usually am on Fridays.  It was an alright day. 

Speaking of work, I better get back to it.  Charts still don't prep themselves.  TTFN!

I don't feel like coming up with a witty title today.

Just when I think I'm doing alright, Friday rolls around.  On Friday, everything just feels heavier and darker.  More painful and more numb at the same time, if that's possible.  Friday is the day that there is no right side of the bed on which I can awaken.  

Even on bright, warm, sunshiny days like today -- doesn't matter, in fact that's probably not helping at all since that's what it was like on the day my Dad died, too.  Hopefully it will be different when the weather is different. I don't know.  I don't like being more irritable than I've ever been in my life, ever, on Fridays, but I can't help it.  It's like, if anyone says anything at all to me, my gut reaction is, "Oh yeah? Well, my Dad died, so..."  It's literally all that is on my mind on Fridays.  Every other day of the week I do think about my Dad, but Friday is the day my mind focuses on the day he died.  Maybe I can try to change that, and start finding other things to think about him on Fridays. Maybe it's too early to try to change that yet and I need to ride this out a bit longer.  Trying to change it feels wrong.  Riding it out feels right.  I don't like feeling this way but it feels like what I'm supposed to be doing.  I mean, it's not like that wasn't a traumatizing day, or anything.  Don't get me wrong, I thank God just about every night that I got to be there for it, and as far as deaths go it was one of the most peaceful things a person could ever hope for in their, um, lives (?) . . . but deep down when you really think about it, it was still traumatic for the rest of us who were there.

But that's not what I want to talk about.  

I want to talk about the random things that have made me cry in the last two days.  Weird things.  I was driving home last night and the song "Dream On" by Aerosmith was on the radio (yes, I still listen to the radio, er ma gersh) and I was singing along because of course I was, and in the middle of it, I started crying. I have no flipping idea why.  That was my first thought when the tears started flowing.  I don't know if my Dad had even ever heard this song (although I'm guessing he probably had, at some point.)  I'd never heard him sing it, or reference it in any way.  It was definitely more my kind of music than his.  The tears stopped almost as quickly as they started, so I just shrugged it off. But, really? I couldn't figure that one out.

I know I said random "things", plural, but now I can't remember what the other random thing was. I know it was something else on the way home yesterday.  It wasn't another song.  I don't remember.  Dangit!

But yeah. I started the "Things That Made Me Cry Today" posts on FB a while ago as a self-depreciating joke, but I didn't expect it to be prophetic.  Random or not-so-random things used to make me cry every now and then when I was feeling super stressed out.  So either I'm beyond the point of super-stressed out now, or more in touch with my feelings, or something, because I cry about something almost every day.  And the "something" I cry about is usually my Dad and all the crap he had to go through with that stupid, stupid dementia.  Dementia sucks.  I have always hated the way it takes perfectly wonderful, capable, strong, proud people and turns them into shells of their former selves, and now that it's taken my Dad, I hate it even more.  It just breaks my heart into a begillion tiny shards, the memories I have of my Dad being stuck in the stupid Broda/geri chair, having to be spoon-fed stupid pureed food and wheeled everywhere and not even being able to do anything for himself.  That was worse than watching him take his last breath. When he took his last breath, it broke my heart, too, but at least I knew he was free.  He wouldn't need anyone to do anything for him ever again.  He was with Jesus at that moment -- he was whole again, he was breathing without any problems, taking nice, big, effortless breaths of clean, pure air, his heart was beating strong and rhythmically, and he was dancing in Heaven on legs that would never let him down again. 

God...I miss my Dad.

7 weeks down, the rest of my life to go.
 

Friday the 13th

"I'm not superstitious, but I am a little stitious."

 -Michael Scott, The Office

"Five is a cardinal number, four plus one."

I didn't realize "five" had a technical definition, but indeed it does. according to Dictionary.com.  

Five (5) is number used to count things, like fingers on one hand, and toes on one foot, and letters in my middle name and the hubby's first name, and the number of weeks since my Dad died as of today.

A couple of big "firsts" have passed since I last wrote in here.  We reached the first month without my Dad.  That hit me hard.  I didn't want August to end because August was the last month he was here.  Know what I mean?  September is my favorite month of the year, but this year September would be the first month of the rest of my life without my Dad.  

And my first birthday (and a milestone one at that) without my Dad.  I usually love my birthday, and probably make a bigger deal out of it than an adult should. But this year, I can honestly say I could not have cared less about it.  It really was just another day.  A day I dreaded. I've NEVER ever in the history of, well, in half a century I've never dreaded my birthday, until a few weeks ago.  

I don't know what else I was going to say today.  I've got a lot to get done today so I should probably stop sitting here trying to make myself sadder and actually try to accomplish something. TTYL!