Friday the 13th

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

 -Michael Scott, The Office

I've never really been into superstitions.  At least, not until I started working as a nurse. The first time I remarked out loud that it seemed to be a quiet night in the hospital, I thought my co-workers were going to string me up and hang me on the flag pole. 

They didn't teach us about the "q" word in nursing school.  

I haven't worked in a hospital for going on 9 years now, but I still don't like to hear the "q" word at work.  Even typing it in the context of work, like I did above, makes me nervous.  It's like a beacon, calling craziness to your door.  I'm super-superstitious when it comes to work.  Sometimes I want to have a regular job where the workflow isn't reliant upon the variability of people and their unpredictable illnesses.  Is there such a thing? Is there a job out there where the workflow is predictable?  This is a serious question.  

Anyway...welcome to week six of Life Without My Dad.  

So I've joined some loss-related groups on FB as a half-hearted way of finding support, and it's been interesting.  Some of them are very specifically for daughters who have lost their Dads.  Because, well, for one thing, in case you hadn't already noticed, I'm a HUGE Daddy's girl.  Always have been, always will be.  (Actually, I saw a video on TikTok where this woman was like, "I'm not a 'Daddy's girl', I am my father's daughter," and that was kinda cool, too -- so however you want to word it, it fits.)  It's interesting because I am almost always interesting in hearing how other people are handling things that I'm going through.

Let me rephrase that: I'm interested in hearing how other people are handling things that I'm going through, but on my own terms.  Because grief is a slippery slope, innit?  Sometimes you, as the person experiencing grief, want to hear all about how someone else is dealing with a situation similar to yours, but sometimes (and maybe even two minutes later) the last thing you want to hear is how someone else is dealing with a situation similar to yours.  Sometimes it feels like the other person is just sharing what's on their heart, and sometimes it feels like they're telling you what to do, and usually it has nothing to do with their delivery and everything to do with your mood at the time.  

That's how I feel, anyway. 

Sometimes I'm an empty vase, looking for emotions to fill me up and keep me from falling over and rolling off the table and crashing into a begillion pieces.  

Sometimes I'm so overflowing with emotions, I feel like one more is going to make me burst open into a begillion jagged pieces.  Also like a vase, or a coin bank, or something.  Like I'm barely holding on to everything *I* am feeling and I cannot possibly hold on to what someone else is telling me they are feeling, too.

But the thing is, sometimes I never know when it's going to switch. I might be handling things just fine and then suddenly have a craving to hear someone's story, or go the opposite way and have a sudden diversion to hearing a single word more.

I don't know. It, like so many other things on this horrible journey, is hard to explain.  If you're reading this, and you haven't been on this journey yet, just know that when you do find yourself on a similar road someday, the mood swings are going to be horrid.  And I've been through menstruation, pregnancy, and menopause, so I know a thing or two about horrid mood swings...and these are by far the worst.  

Anyway...I can't read many posts on the aforementioned FB groups, which is probably a surprise to no one.  The posts from people whose Dads died years and years ago make me sad because it reminds me that I still have a long ways to go.  The posts from people whose Dads just died a few days ago make me sad because those memories are still very fresh in my mind, too (in fact, it's weird because I've responded to a few questions already with "when I was at that point..." kind of answers, and it's made me realize that even though it's only been six weeks, it's already been six weeks, KWIM?)  This whole thing has definitely made me analyze my relationship with my Dad.  Not just with my Dad, but with my Mom, too.  Hence why I started on the Daddy's Girl topic before I got side tracked.  

My Mom and I have gotten (I hate the word "gotten") along better in the last 5 years than we ever have in our whole lives. Because of my Dad, I suppose.  His illness has brought us closer together.  Also, since my sister has disowned my parents, my Mom has no choice but to talk to me; I'm the only kid left, ha ha ha.  But I'll get to that another time.  Not that we get along as well as my Dad and I did, but we do get along now.  When I was a kid, I think my Mom and I fought more often than not.  I think she hated everything I did or wanted to do.  I never did, and still really don't understand why, other than it's not what she would have wanted to do. Me being me, I am always trying to understand why she is the way she is, what makes her tick, how someone can make it this far in life being so closed-minded and yet have raised me.  But I'll save that for another time, or maybe never for public sharing, as well.  I've learned a fair bit about my Mom on this journey with my Dad.  Helpful things.  Helpful for me, anyway. 

But I sure do miss my Dad.  And cue the tears.

We had a 50th birthday party (and 28th anniversary) family get-together out here last weekend.  My Mom didn't feel up to celebrating so she stayed home.  I know if my Dad was still alive, he wouldn't have been here because he wouldn't have been able to leave the nursing home, and that would've sucked, too.  Last year it sucked because he didn't even know it was my birthday, even when I told him it had been my birthday, he just looked at me blankly like he didn't comprehend what that meant.  Did I talk about this in my last post? I don't remember.  Anyway, it was a fun time!  But it also made me sad.  My Dad hadn't been to our new place very many times.  I don't think he ever even saw the horses here.  They used to come out to our old place all the time, but by the time we moved here, he wasn't driving any more.  I'd go get them and bring them out to visit, but he wasn't very mobile, and then my Mom would come up with excuses why they couldn't make it, and then he was in the nursing home.  He would've loved it here.  He was never here in the summer when the trees were all full of leaves and all the birds and critters were out.  

One thing I am very thankful for, though. On the FB groups I've talked about here, there is a lot of regret from other daughters that their Dads won't get to walk them down the aisle or meet their grandkids or see them graduate from high school or college or all of that.  I'm so thankful that my Dad was there for all of that.  He was there for all of my milestones, except turning 50.  

Alright, alright, alright. I've gotta get back to work now. This has been the shortest six weeks of my life; how is it the middle of September already?!?!