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

I think I've used that as a blog title before, but I don't care. I'm going to use it again.  

Nineteen weeks already. Wow.  Still, sometimes it seems like it's been longer and sometimes it seems like it was just yesterday.  

Speaking of yesterday, I had a lot of time to think because I was home fighting off a virus.  The kind that makes me feel miserable and achy and feverish, but that I can usually knock out if I can just stay in bed for a day.  Which is what I did.  But one can actually only sleep so much, so I had a lot of time to think, too, like I said.

And one thing I kept thinking about is my sister.  Now, I'm not going to start the whole story from the beginning here, because I don't have all day to write this, but I've been trying to decide how to start writing about this whole debaucle.  I think I'll just start where I am and fill in where/when necessary.  

The thing I kept thinking about yesterday was that, you know, for the last 4 months or so -- actually, even longer than that; I'd say it's been the last 5 years or so -- the core of my anger toward her hasn't been the fact that she won't talk to me anymore.  No, what gets me the most is the way she has been treating our parents.  And lately, the way she has treated and continues to treat her children, as well.

I'm not here to flex (did I say that right? lol) or brag that I'm so great because I'm selfless like that or anything.  As far as I know, she doesn't talk to me anymore because I told her that I disagreed with her decision to have a boyfriend when she was still married to her first husband.  I suspect that there is much more behind it than that, but that is purely speculation because she has never told me otherwise and after our last little spat (after I told her I didn't agree of her relationship status, because -- and I must repeat this louder for the people in the back -- because she asked me straight up what I thought of it) she has since refused to talk to me and has even asked my mom to stop saying my name around her. I'll save this rabbit hole for another time, because my point today is that, this doesn't matter anymore.  I've screamed, cried, laughed, prayed, prayed, and prayed some more on this one.  I've wanted to resolve it, been on the verge of apologizing so many times, and have come to my senses and said, you know what? I have nothing to apologize for.  I said what I said, and it was the truth. 

What I don't know is what my parents supposedly did to her, or what my son or my husband supposedly did to her, that made her disown all of them as well?  Seriously.  We joke that their crimes were to be related to me, but that could be the God's-honest truth for all I know. To my parents, how dare they conceive me and let me be born! Her life was perfect until then. To my husband, shame on him for meeting me and falling in love with me and marrying me!  And to my poor son, who truly is the the only innocent one here, who had the actual nerve to be borne by me!  Fools, all of you.  

I just can't believe she's done my mom like this.  She was always my mom's favorite child.  You know how parents have favorite children, right? I was my Dad's, and she was my Mom's.  And now, my Mom pretends that she's all mad at her and everything, but I can tell how hurt she is.  And yesterday I was like, why do I even care? That's none of my business.  My business is me and my sister, and I'm at a good place with that, so I should just leave it alone and let those two figure it out.  There's nothing I can do anyway.

Except I can't.  Because it just seems so wrong to ignore it.  She's my mom's first born child, ffs.  My mom complains about her but I know she still loves her and worries about her and wants to know what is going on with her.  And she wants to help her but she doesn't know how.  Because that's how moms are with their kids.  Even when their kids are in their 50's.  I'm not usually good at reading between the lines with people. I tend to take them at their word, I'm not good at picking up on subtleties or figuring out what they're not telling me.  Except in this case, I am.  It's taken me 50 years but I've finally figured out my parents, ha, ha.  

The only other thing I wanted to say today (which I wanted to say at the beginning of this post, but I couldn't remember what it was about my Dad that I wanted to say at the beginning of this post, but now I remember it and just in time to wrap this up so I can get back to work) was that, while I really do NOT miss going to the nursing home to visit my Dad, there are some days when I've had a really long and busy day at work that I really miss seeing him. Even seeing him there, at least I got to see him.  Even when he was in a bad mood, at least I got to just sit next to him and maybe hold his hand or something.  That would always make my day better.  Not anymore.  Now if I have a long and busy day at work, I get to just drive home. In crazy traffic.  It sucks.  I miss my Dad.  I miss the Dad I had 10-15 years ago, though.  Not the one with dementia and slowly declining faculties who was falling apart before my eyes.  Not the sad Dad.  Maybe that's why it doesn't feel like this is the first holiday season without my Dad -- because we haven't actually had a "normal" holiday season with my family for a while now.  Last year's definitely sucked, gathering together in a corner of the "sun room" at the nursing home, which was half-heartedly decorated with a few Christmas things.  That was probably the saddest Christmas ever. My Dad had no clue it was different than any other day.  Except that we brought him a can of beer.  :D  I'm the best daughter ever.  That is something I WILL flex on. Or about.  Or however that word is supposed to be used.

TTFN!

Now THAT is funny.

Not funny as in "ha, ha" funny, but "funny" as in it makes it look like this is an adults-only (age 18 years and up!) blog post. From dear, sweet, lil' ol' me.  <insert choirs of angels singing>

Not that I couldn't pull it off.  I can swear like nobody's business.  Get me mad about something, you'll see.  But not here.  Not now.  

We've made it to 18 weeks officially today since my Dad's last breath, and we also surpassed the official 4-month mark this week, as well.  (That was Monday, December 2nd, for those of you playing along at home.)  

A couple of observations: I did not think my Mom would have made it this far.  Seriously, the way she was talking before my Dad died and shortly thereafter, there were times I honestly thought I was going to be planning a double funeral.  Only they didn't/don't want funerals so it would have been a double non-funeral.  You get what I mean.  

And I get what she means. Who wants to live without their spouse? The person they've spent 60+ years of their life with? The person they've built their life with?  The center of their universe?  I can't even imagine what that's like.  Nor do I want to try.  

But I'm proud of her.  She's given me some scary moments (not truly scary in that I've had to call in professional help, just scary as in not knowing what I can do and then having to realize that there isn't anything I can do) but overall I think she's doing great. She's taking care of herself, doing the things she put off doing so she could be there for my Dad (like cataract surgery), taking care of her house, socializing with other people, and I've actually managed to get her out of her house and out to do a couple of new things lately.  The bottom line is, I've seen her have some truly happy moments these past few weeks, and that makes me happy, too.  

Oh! I almost forgot!  My Mom got a tattoo!!  Words I never, EVER thought I'd say.  A real, actual tattoo. The day after my Dad died, we were sitting in her kitchen ("we" being her, me, my son, my nephew, his fiancee, and I think my son's roommate was there, too? My hubby was in the living room.  My son's roommate might've been there, too. I don't remember exactly.) and I said we should go get memorial tattoos, and she agreed.  And didn't change her mind thereafter.  I think that, the day we got our tattoos (10/30/2024) was the first time I saw her look truly happy since losing my Dad.  It was awesome.  She's even planning on going back in the Spring to get another one!  Another memorial tattoo for my Dad.  But that's all she wants. Just two tattoos, and that's it.  

Anyway...yeah.  So when Mom's happy, I'm happy.  I'm not stupid enough to think that it's a permanent kind of happy for her, but I will take finding happy moments for her wherever I can get them.  

Don't worry, I'm happy at other times, too.  My point was that part of the reason I was scared for my Dad to die was because I didn't know what it would do to my Mom, or even to me.  In case you didn't know, I'm a little emotionally unstable.  This is the biggest loss I've ever had in my life.  The worst pain I've ever felt in my life.  I literally feel like I'm in a car that was racing down a winding road and flew off a cliff and burst into flames before it even hit the ground.  I didn't know if I'd stay trapped in that car as it kept rolling down the foothills, burning everything in it's path (including me) into an unidentifiable mess that no one could touch, or if I'd somehow manage to jump out like they do in the moves, and tuck and roll away from the disaster then stand up and brush the dust off my jeans and try to figure out how I'm gonna climb back up that cliff to get back on the road.  

Tuck and roll, kids. Tuck and roll.

I'm really feeling like someday soon I need to write all about my sister's role, or lack thereof, in all of this.  To do that, I'll need to tell some backstory, too.  So it will take more than just my lunch break to go into THAT little tale, ha, ha, ha.  Part of me has this...this fear? inkling? suspicion? whatever, that she actually reads this, which has been another part of my hesitation in writing it.  But another part of me cares less and less about that aspect of it with every passing second, because I. Didn't. Do. Anything. Wrong.  And if I did, maybe retelling the story here will help me see it and own up to it.  But I've replayed it a begillion times and I'm pretty sure I would've figured it out by now if it was a Me thing.  

Back in the day, I used to journal to get the confusing thoughts out of my head and to try to make sense of things I couldn't stop thinking about. That's the other reason why I need to write about my sister soon. The whole thing is frequently on my mind and it makes me so mad and frustrated and I hate feeling like that!  

Alright, enough of that for now. Gotta get back to work.  TTYL!

It's beginning to look a lot like f*ck this!

I shouldn't complain, because we really don't have much snow...like maybe two inches? But we're currently under a "snow squall warning" which is definitely not something I recall hearing very often.  All I know is that it's super windy out, and I'm thankful that today has been a WFH day! 

I guess I stopped updating weekly almost 8 weeks ago now.  I kind of needed the break. Not that I don't still know how many weeks it's been since my Dad died, but I needed a break from making myself even sadder by pointing it out so publicly every week.  I don't think I even posted the links to the last post on my FB because...I mean, it's hard to explain. Because the support and hugs and prayers and kind words and thoughts are all definitely very much appreciated, for sure. But sometimes, after 9 or 10 weeks of it all, you just kinda get numb to it, you know? You've long since given up on finding the "proper" response because there really isn't one.  Just like there really isn't a "proper" thing to say to someone who has lost a loved one.  There are the socially-accepted things to say and ways to react to what has been said, but none of it ever feels "right" or "proper", at least it never has to me.  Telling someone that you're sorry is weird because hey, it's not my fault they died.  It's not your fault, either.  Unless it was.  In which case, sorry definitely wouldn't cut it, I'm sure, but that's a whole 'nother scenario. 

"How are you doing?" is still a question I'd like to avoid.  I like to answer that Yes, I'm doing.  I already knew that life wouldn't stop just because one of my favorite people in the world stopped living, so I have to stay on this ride called Life, and I intend to keep doing so to the best of my ability for as long as God sees fit to keep me here.  My good days mostly outnumber my bad days these days, I think.  I stopped keeping track.  I've now survived not just my first birthday without my Dad but also the first holiday (Thanksgiving) without him, and look at that, the world didn't implode.  Although, I did ask my PCP (primary care provider) if I could increase my antidepressant medication dose.  Hey, in all fairness, she's the one who offered it once she found out what's happened in my life since I last saw her about a year ago.  I mulled on it for a few weeks, and then took it upon myself to try increasing my dose to see if it made a difference (I didn't think it would, but gosh-darn if I didn't start feeling better after a week or so!) and since it did, I asked her to make it official.  

So, yeah. Thanksgiving. It actually turned out better than I thought it would! The actual day of Thanksgiving was pretty low-key.  It was my hubby and I, and then I went to St. Paul and brought my Mom here to spend the day with us. She kept waffling on whether she wanted to come out here or not.  As one might expect a new widow to do.  Wow, that's weird.  I'm not used to calling my mom a widow yet.  Anyway, we just hung out and watched TV and my hubby did some pork loins on the grill and later on, the boy came over. Then, on Saturday, my mom came over again and so did the boy, and so did my two nephews and their significant others, and later on our son's roommate joined us. 

But I gotta go now. I'll write more later. Maybe.