Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Surviving June

So what if it's June?

So what if I refuse to glance at my calendar?

So what if I've failed miserably at preparing for the Relay for Life this year and it's in a week?

So what if I've been in a bad mood for well over a week now?

So what?

I hit a milestone of sorts, last week.  I went to the store and walked past the card aisle.  I needed a birthday card and a baby girl card and I successfully retrieved the desired cards from the rows without dissolving into a puddle. 

Of course, I didn't even look at the other side of the aisle.  Willed my eyes away from it. 

I'm guessing Tom isn't getting a Father's Day card this year.  If his Dad gets one this year, he should cherish it forever since it will be the one time his son will be responsible for the purchase.   I avoid the card section as much as possible these days.

My brother's birthday lands right in the middle of it all, thankfully he is good with a phone call.  Not a card guy.  I should ask him what he wants.  A few years ago, he told me he wanted red balloons, a pony and a bottle of spray cheese.  You know I sent that to him.  That, I can do.  Cards, not so much.

I had an article published this week and got some amazing feedback on it.  But then I started getting comments on other things I've written too.  People who haven't read all that I wrote about my father in the days after he died.

People who related to what I wrote, shared their experiences, told me how this would be the first year without their father too, not sure how they will get through it either.  Or how it's been twenty or thirty years and it still hurts like hell.

I'm supposed to be strong and sturdy and stoic.  And all that.

And then I find myself walking out of the dentist's office and dialing his number to give him the latest updates on the kids. 

I can't believe I still do that.

There are times that it just still seems unreal.  That he's still here and he's healthy and fine, and he's just not in the mood to talk on the phone today.  He's just busy.  The times that I talk to someone and slip and say things like "mom and dad" before I realize what just snuck out of my mouth.  The times I look at pictures that aren't even from that long ago and imagine he's still here with us now. 

Then reality slaps me across the face and I remember that everything is different now. 

I have to figure out how to walk out of a dentist's office without needing to call him.  I need to stop my subconscious mind from thinking about him like he's still here.  I have to, at some point, stop being startled when I see his car sitting in my driveway. 

I have to.  Eventually.  But I know it's not happening today, or anytime this month.

I feel bad because my husband is the one who will get ripped off.  Father's Day is going to suck for him this year.  I know this in advance.  I'm sure he does as well.  I'm going to be a mess, he just might too.  My dad dying hit him hard.  Harder than I expected it would, and probably far more than I've even been able to see since I've been busy with my own issues. 

Grief is an isolating thing. 

At least for me it is.    I want to be left alone to do my crying and thinking.   Sometimes I am just angry and I know that it's probably better for me to avoid dealing with everyone else.  I don't find much good comes from talking about it with anyone, except for the times I look for reassurance that it won't always be this hard.  It won't, so they say. 

I hope they are right. 

I'm just surviving June this time around.

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