For Erin

I am a survivor of postpartum depression.

I stand for the enlightenment of a society that hides from mental illness, a society that hides from those who struggle to recover. I am unwilling for my perseverance to be in vain. I am unwilling for our brave friend who suffered the dark night of the soul to have lived and died in shame.

In a world blinded by the pursuit of pleasure, I am here to say that many mothers are in pain. In a world rushing to get ahead, I am here to say that many mothers are being left behind. In a world obsessed with the value of the market, I am here to speak for the value of our lives.

Innocence

I heard a song this morning that made me cry.

Some of you might remember this song:

“Old lang syne” by Dan Fogelberg?? You can hear it at:

http://www.geocities.com/bjaes.geo/lyrics/syne.htm

This song has always gotten to me. Even when I was too young to understand it. When this song came out I was in elementary school, I knew that I didn’t understand it at the time but someday I would.

And now I do.

What happens to all those innocent times? The times before death, divorces, suicides, depressions, kids, major responsibilities, layoffs, disasters, terrorist attacks....

Man. I realize how much time has passed since that song came out. And how much I've grown up. And how hard that has been. My head is spinning. There's so many experiences I'm so grateful for, but so many that I wish I didn't have to experience: breakups, homelessness, joblessness, loneliness, depressions, illnesses, surgery, traumatic childbirth, deaths of friends and loved ones.

My H is flying out tonight to attend the funeral of his friend Erin, who killed herself on Sunday. She has suffered from bipolar depression for a few years now or so we heard, and I guess she just couldnt handle it anymore and took her own life on the weekend. My husband was ok when he first heard the news, but he’s getting more and more upset as time goes on. I hope he is able to handle this ok. He’s not doing so well right now, and neither am I. I wish I could go to, but I didn’t really know Erin very well, I only met her twice. Once in Toronto for a baby shower, and once at our wedding. Besides, I think he needs to go off and do this himself. And I also have to stay and take care of our daughter, and the cost of both of us flying to Toronto for an overnight stay would be pretty high.

I realized last night that THREE people who were on our guest list for our wedding are now dead. Two attended the wedding, one committed suicide before the wedding. Yes - we now have TWO friends who have wives who killed themselves. The other person who is now dead is my own father.

Back to my husband. His friend that died was part of my husband's close circle of friends in Toronto before he moved here. Although I don’t like anyone to be upset, its good to see the emotions in him rising to the surface. He’s spent so much time stuffing his feelings inside, and that has led to some pretty weird behaviour on his part.

I’m ok with him crying, being upset. He thinks he’s a big softy but I really like when people (men OR women) are able to cry and express their feelings. Makes them seem more human, and makes me feel less wacky. I’m a big cryer.. I cry at everything. I was labelled crybaby at a young age, and I still earn the rights for that nickname. Except now I proudly wear the label, and when I was young I hated that people teased me about that.

Gotta go put some cold washcloths on my eyes. They're all puffy.

For Erin, Peter and Carole

Capture My Soul, for it Serves Me Naught

Amidst the thunderous waves of despair
The siren with song
Comes through as Seventeen Pearls
Still in their shell,
Waving you at whim and random
On an unseen strand of hair
Between Heaven and Hell.

As the vessel of your journey
Thrashed relentlessly on
Malevolent waves-
The Pearls
Once your only goal,
Dissolve and chill
Your lives once warm.

I too, like you all
Through endless storms
My hands outstretched hold the shell
Waiting for God's tears from Heaven
To offer me once again,
Pearls of Seventeen
And release me,
For a time -
From Hell.

Tis the season....

To be bummed out.

Christmas bums me out so much. Everything bad happens at Christmas. I just found out at noon today that a friend of my husband's killed herself last week. She too was suffering PPD after her daughter was born. I guess hers went on a long time (since 2003) and she eventually succumbed. People dont realize how lethal an illness depression can be. I wish I'd called them. I wish I'd had more energy in my own PPD recovery to reach out to someone else. I didnt know them that well, so I didnt feel comfortable doing so, but you can be sure that right now I'm beating myself up for not trying at least.

I feel awful right now. I'm shaking, I have a headache, I'm choking back tears, and I feel nauseated. I know that the only difference between me and her was that I got help, the right help, and she obviously didn't. Now there's one more little child, her daughter, without a mother. Another child like me who will grow up thinking her parent (in my case it was my father) didn't even care enough about me to want to be alive. My dad, fortuntely, was never successful in any of his suicide attempts, but the effects of them were the same. A feeling of worthlessness due to complete lack of validation by a parent.

My home life growing up was ANYTHING but jolly and bright. My dad had so many "issues" that they coloured everything. Christmas for me was full of anxiety, anger, walking on eggshells, listening to my dad vent and rage, and watch him so clearly uncomfortable around us, trying too hard, wobbling between extreme, over the top, slightly "put on" joy, while the rest of us wanted to go off to our rooms and hide. Sure, there were some good times. But we never knew how long they were going to last. Until dad had another "episode" I guess.

One year was all about my dad NOT dealing with his mental problems and his addictions and watching him fall so far off the wagon that he was arrested for DUI and his car impounded. Merry friggin Christmas to us. I think it was the day before Christmas Eve that my mom and I had to drive up to the police station in another town nearby to bail out his car. What was worse (as if that wasn't bad enough) he was so mad at himself and so feeilng sorry for himself that he pretty much sat in the basement the whole Christmas and barely talked to any of us. When he did, he screamed and yelled and vented. Great. Ho Ho friggin Ho.

All kinds of rotten things have usually happened at Christmas. My grandfather's death. My dad's arrest for DUI. Finding out my uncle had an affair with my aunt. A friend of mine was killed in a plane crash. I fell down some stairs and severely injured my pelvis. My cat was diagnosed with terminal cancer. No wonder I just want to bury my head under my pillow and wake up in January.

Also this is my last full week working in a group that I REALLY liked working in. I joined my current work team in 2002 and really enjoyed it. A few months ago I was told, with no ifs, ands or buts about it, that I and my small team of 5 (some are on leave right now though) will be transferred to another branch as of January 2007. I'm still really upset about it. No consideration was given of how this might affect us, our work, the files, anything. And I was given no offer to stay on here and choose another file. I can understand possibly the file going, but why me? The people involved in the transfer did not even talk to me about ANYTHING, they dont know me from a hole in the ground, but they had their minds made up that this was the best move for "everyone concerned" - whatever that means?

Today there were people in here, scoping out the building. I guess we're all moving -but to where? We were told there's no space in the main building and we're to stay here for the time being. We're also told that there's new people coming in who don't know about those of us who have to stay. This is getting ridiculous!

My work environment is definitely bumming me out. Besides the transfer and possible move (which we were not expecting until march) there are people deliberately going against our recommendations on things. Now we don't just recommend things, we interpret mandatory government obligations on certain topics. I SWEAR people deliberately go out of their way to thwart us. We didnt make this stuff up.. this is declared obligatory by the Federal Government. We're just the follow-through people. Are we adults or are we five year olds here?

I'm still just getting my head around last month too. The 1 year anniversary of my dad's death. Its still so weird to start my Christmas shopping list, and have one usual row blank. I always used to start my list with Mom, Dad, Chris.. and yep.. the line for Dad is so obvious by its omission.

I also had a spat with my husband this morning. I swear sometimes we argue just for arguing sake. Sometimes he just deliberately goes out of his way to NOT do what I suggest, because I'm sure he sees me as some authority figure. I'm NOT. I do have some knowledge and opinions just as any other adult human being out there, and I do hope that I am a bit more important to him than almost any other person out there, and perhaps that might make him take my suggestions with a bit more weight. But it doesn't. It often contaminates my intentions, it, like somehow I'm just out there to CONTROL him, to push him around, and by God he'll NOT take that from anyone let alone his wife! Its so demoralizing. Kind of like my work situation. Very dehumanizing and frustrating.

Also my daughter is sick again with a bad head/chest cold. She gets croupy coughs at night that keep her awake. Poor baby. I hate when she gets sick. She doesn't sleep well and it keeps us all up. I also worry so much - she's so tiny and that cough sounds awful coming from that itty bitty baby body. I hope she gets well soon.

And I crashed my car last week and its still in the shop. I hope it gets fixed soon. So far the repairs are estimated to cost $250.00. I hope the bent rim and the massive alignment problem is all that they find. It's a pain in the butt to go back to only one car.

Merry Christmas and Bah Humbug. I hope I feel better after I get some work deadlines done at least. If my books and computer don't get packed up and moved when I'm not looking.

Toddler Wrasslin'

Today I am exhausted and sore. I brought my daughter - solo - to a children’s birthday party (for 2 year old). Big mistake. Next time I’m bringing a relief pilot if my husband's not available.

Instead of enjoying a relaxing afternoon with friends, as I used to do before I became a mother instead I spent 3 hours wrestling with my 32 pound, extremely busy, strong and strong-willed daughter.

The event included:

Following my daughter the whole time to prevent her from falling down the stairs. People kept leaving the safety-gate to the basement open to a very long flight of stairs. I did have to catch her at one point, but even me watching her did not stop her from falling down the 2 steps in the front foyer and landing smack on her head on a hard tile floor.

Me pulling her off their Christmas tree and their breakables at least 10 times. How people with 3 kids can put fragile ornaments and other breakables out is beyond me! In my house, I've got everything within her range-of-destruction packed away, taped down or gated off.

At one point I was too exhausted to follow her and 5 minutes later I found her jumping on the bed of the 9 year old (while he was on it) laughing her nutty head off, and another time I found her running around the bedroom of the 5 year old.. jumping on his inflatable soccer-ball-chair.

She sprayed apple juice from an open juice box on the hosts' Christmas figurines. Since there were lots of kids there, there were lots of open juice boxes to grab, chew on and spray all over the place. Everywhere she seemed to go people were mopping up after her. I had to take off after her after each spray and leave the carnage to someone else.

She grabbed a Christmas figurine from under the tree (a large polar bear on skis) and tried to take his ski poles off, they were firmly attached to the figurine. She then tipped the figurine over. The bear was soft/stuffed but the hat, skis and poles were made of plastic. She was just about to give him the WWF-patented-atomic-elbow-drop-crush-tackle until I grabbed her just in time.

She opened cupboard doors, tried to take out dishes and cookware, she opened the bathroom vanity, tried to grab toilet paper, soap, etc.

She tried to serve herself her OWN piece of birthday cake. The older kids were served first, presumably because they could actually sing Happy Birthday and sit at the table unassisted. She saw the cake being eaten by the older kids.. said firmly to me “YUMMY!” and then “ABBY’S” and set off towards the table, with the intent of grabbing some cake of her own. She was rerouted only by the piece of cake coming our way being served by the hostess, otherwise certain disaster would have ensued.

She sat on the birthday boy’s toys thinking they were good benches, flattened the boxes, then proceeded to carry some of his gifts down the hall into his parents’ bedroom.

Why do other peoples kids seem to sit and play together while mine strikes out on her own, investigating every nook and cranny? Why did even the babies at this party seem low maintenance?

Every muscle in my body is sore. I started out the day with a pinched nerve in my neck (you know those where you turn your head to one direction and it burns) and now I can barely move. I’m sitting on a chair with a heating pad in it.

I’m going to a massage at 12:30. Some people may call it a luxury, but I can barely move.

I call it a medical necessity.

Baby Milestones

Three major milestones yesterday in my daughter's transition from toddlerhood to preschooler.

1. She hit me. She wanted to be picked up and I said "not right now I'm cooking dinner". Her frustration grew instantly and she screamed "NO!" and then smacked me on the leg with her hand. I let her know, sternly, that hitting is not good and you dont hit mommy. She burst out crying. I picked her up a few minutes later when dinner was in the oven, and we had a "chat" about not hitting, that its not nice, and we don't hit in our house. She seemed to understand. At least she could see that I still loved her and could be tender and loving towards her despite her unacceptable behaviour.

2. She finally has her bottom molars poking through her gums. Finally at 17 months she's almost able to chew food, and not resort to either trying to swallow chunks whole (she chokes frequently) or for us to cut things up into such tiny pieces it's not fun for her to eat. She does try to mash things up with her front teeth, but she's not always successful.

3. She cursed. Now before this sounds too awful, toddlers are prone to making up a lot of nonsense words and not knowing what they mean. Her favourites lately are mostly two syllable ones such as "ag-doh" and "da-bee". She's also been heard saying "la-vash, ba-doh, da-bah, ba-gah, ba-deesh, za-bah". She also occasionally comes out with "a-go-doh" which has something to do with her crate of soft-blocks. I haven't figured this one out yet. She does have a few nonsense words that actually mean something.. her own little language. She uses the word "ahm-ee" for lemon, and "ack" for eyeglasses or sunglasses.

But last night, amid the usual nonsense words, came something that sounded like "sh*t". My husband looked at me, I looked at him, our eyes met, they grew wide, and then I burst out laughing. I had to leave the table so as not to encourage her from saying it over and over (as toddlers love to do when they find something that makes adults laugh). It sounded SO funny in her little baby voice, her saying something that sounded a lot like a curse word.

I know curse words are vulgar, and improper, and probably a sin in some people's books, but I have often found cursing funny. Particularly when I'm extremely stressed, and/or it comes from people who dont seem like the cursing type: proper, formal, uptight people, sweet elderly grandmothers, and toddlers who dont really know what they're saying yet.

Aaaah. Parenthood is waay too funny sometimes.

Putting blame where blame is due...

... or is it really a matter of responsibility? Blame sounds so harsh, taking personal responsibility is more like it.

Why do I seem to attract those who need to shift their helplessness onto me and project it to the point where it seems to be MY problem? My fault? Why am I a punching bag for the insecure? And why does it hurt me so bad? Maybe because I've lost a lot in my life due to that kind of faulty thinking. I've lost time, energy, self esteem, relationships... I've suffered abuse, broken hearts, and a lot of crap that's taken a lot of energy and good health from me. Or maybe my recent string of bad luck is just too tempting a target....

Why can't people take responsibility for themselves and stop hurting others? How can people not feel bad about putting others down in order to make them feel better about themselves? Why is this a theme I see over and over - in love, work, life...

Why are healthy boundaries so hard to draw for so many people? Why do people struggle with responsibility/over-responsibility/under-responsibility? Is our society so screwed up that we can't define these places very well?

And how do I get myself back on track after this most recent heart-splitting attack?

Give it up....

... to God. I've been so freaked out about things lately and a coworker of mine just said that to me. I forget sometimes, to let things go, and I sit and worry and clamp onto things that I really have no control over. Like whether or not my husband comes around to decide to have a second child. Whether or not I'll be even able to have a second child. Whether or not I'll have a job in five, ten, fifteen years.. what this move to a new division will mean, whether or not this or that will happen....

For so long, most of my teens, twenties I've tried to "drive" things in my life and it's always been so painful. I had a strong drive to achieve at school, to get the perfect relationship at the right time to have kids at the right age.. etc. etc.
It was always so painful and exhausting. And everything blew up anyhow. So by now, at my age, and with my recent hard training in the School of Life, I should know better than to not heed the signs that I'm trying to warp myself out of shape about something I can't control. For awhile now, in the wake of my PPD, my father's death and my health issues, I've been able to let things go, to trust, to just accept whatever comes along. To accept that God really is in charge, and that things happen on HIS time, not on ours. But recently, I've had a hard time doing that.

I have not been to Church in several months for a variety of reasons (mostly because my husband is taking a class on Sunday mornings and I don't like the thought of bringing my 17 month old toddler to Church alone - I wouldn't get much out of it). Not going to Church that often, I forget the magnitude of God's presence in my life, in everyone's life, and that not much of what we go through is really in our control. Due to so many painful and harsh realities that have been thrown in my face recently I've had to learn that, or go absolutely stark raving crazy. Or actually, I did go stark raving crazy, THEN I learned that I really have very little control over most things in my life.

I gotta keep remembering this. And waiting for the BIG signs. Maybe I've just not had the right sign yet. And maybe God wants me to wait right now. To learn obedience, to learn patience.

Stay Strong
Be Brave
Wait for the Signs

P

One year and one day....

...since my dad died. Actually it could be one year and two days, since he died alone, overnight, we dont know exactly what day he died. but likely it was in the wee hours of the morning, on Tuesday, November 15, 2005.

I've been having a hard time this week. Its been pretty stressful. First my daughter was sick and had to go to the ER on Saturday night. Sitting there with her, waiting as the medication kicked in to help ease her difficult breathing, I was thinking that this was the exact building that they brought my father's lifeless body into almost a year before. I wondered where his body went - what door it entered, where it was kept, etc. I couldn't squeeze that image out of my head. I was not there when my dad died, and by the time I got to my parents house, his body was gone. But I still replay what it might have looked like - what my mom saw when she discovered him, the ambulance attendants bringing his body up from the rec. room. My mom did call me when she was trying to do CPR on him, that moment is frozen in my nervous system somewhere. Every once in awhile I remember that call, her distant, floaty, disoriented voice saying that she thought he'd passed away, and he wasn't responding to CPR... the emotional ice-bath that hit me as I was trying to sit there and process the news.

I sometimes cant get that thought out of my head and when I go to my mom's house (its so weird to not call it my parents' house anymore) I have to literally squeeze my temples and pinch myself to stop thinking about what the scene might have looked like. I try not to spend too much time thinking about that, or if he suffered, or if he knew what was happening to him. I hope that God made it quick and painless, that my dad didn't even know it was happening. I hope he wasn't in pain, or scared. He was scared of so many things. I hope that Jesus was there to meet him, or someone he knew, maybe my grandmothers, so he wasn't scared.

For the one year memorial, I placed an ad in the local paper with the following in memoriam notice:


No farewell words were spoken,
No time to say goodbye,
You were gone before we knew it,
And only God can tell us why.
It broke our hearts to lose you,
But you didn't go alone,
Part of us went with you,
The day God called you home.
Peacefully sleeping, resting at last,
His weary trials and troubles past,
In silence he suffered, in patience he bore,
Till God called him home to suffer no more


Yesterday, for the anniversary, I took the day off and went to the cemetery along with my husband, my brother, and my mom. We cried buckets. I'm so exhausted today.

I need to sleep, but I have to go to work, and my daughter and my husband are both sick, and I feel like I'm coming down with yet another cold. I was not feeling well early this week and I thought I was done it, but who knows. I could just be in acute re-grief again. Grief feels like a cold that's for sure.

So many painful memories this week, and no rest for this weary Mama.

Fifty-one weeks

Since the death of my father.
My dad died.
My father is dead.
Oh my God.
Its so final.
How could this happen? I just talked to him on the phone one day
And the next he was gone.
All over.
Where did you go?
Where are you?
Please don't go.

The finality of this is just hitting me so hard. I cant stop crying this week. Today is the worst day of all.

Pictures and memories
are all I have of you now
no family dinners
or other celebrations

but what really would have been there
another twisted sad event
as so many of them before
when would we have had you
the REAL you to be with
or your distressed,
self destructive, evil twin?

Why did fate
deal us such a final decision
let us trust God
that all is right, all is correct, all is well

Memories of a curly little girl in the 70's
crazy about her dark haired daddy
running through my mind
those days over forever

They really were over before
I'm grown up now
But now its so real, so final
Memories of the past
Bringing not happiness, but pain

When will the sharpness
of the grief
fade into something more mellow
no anxiety to greet me
as I remember the past

maybe never, anxiety was always there
fear, uncertainty, instability
A girl, never confident in the world
can't sleep, can't get any peace

I can only buffer
the sadness, insecurity, anger
for my own little girl
to fall in love with her own daddy
but she has to learn feminine grace and dignity
from a Mom so hollow and scared and insecure

One foot in front of the other
self parenting in full bloom
You can do it
You are doing it
You are fine
All is well
Breathe
Breathe

Grieve the loss
then live is what you once said
I'm still grieving
I'm trying to live
I now realize, both will happen at the same time
its not a two step process.

its about incorporating
this new reality
in every activity, every thought, every moment.
its now reality that we carry
its hard
we're getting better at it
but we still carry it
every single day.

I miss you Doots, and I love you. I know you sometimes doubted it
But I always did.
I was so mad becuase I saw you being so awful to yourself
And I figured you always deserved so much more.

I just wish I could hear your voice right now.
Listen to your floppy slippers on the floor
the clinking of ice in your glass
the clearing of your throat

the sounds of every day life
we take for granted
until they're gone.
then we'd give anything, everything we have
to hear it again.
Such is the life of a survivor.

Surviving what?
I think the dead are the lucky ones.
No grief for them, no pain, no loss, no heartbreak.

Changes and feeling like I dont belong

Changes in my work life are bumming me out. I thought it was just me and I needed to just "tough it out" until I came across this.

Enjoy.

**********************************

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN RESEARCH: Sense of belonging helps people suffering depression, by Colleen Newvine.

Having a sense of belonging with family, friends and co-workers can help relieve symptoms of depression, according to U-M research.

Reg Williams, professor of nursing and psychiatry and co-author of a paper in the current issue of the Archives of Psychiatric Nursing, says people who feel connected to the world around them feel better.

"You can have lots of social support, but unless you feel you fit in, it doesn't help," Williams says. He teamed up for the research with graduate student Chanokruthai Choenarom and long-time collaborator Bonnie Hagerty, associate professor of nursing.

The researchers studied 90 people, and separated them into two groups—one diagnosed with depressive symptoms and the other without. They looked at perceived stress, sense of belonging, social support and spousal support for one year, taking data every three months.

Notably, spousal support did not help with depression. In fact, it sometimes had a negative effect. "The things a spouse thinks might be supportive aren't necessarily helpful," Williams says. For example, some spouses might think they're giving cheerful pep talks, but they might be received as nagging or minimizing their mate's suffering.

The higher that subjects rated their social support and a sense of belonging, the lower they rated their depressive symptoms. Williams says there are implications for this research both for clinicians and for those suffering from depression.

"When I first see a patient who is suffering depression, I ask them to reach out to friends, family members and co-workers and get re-connected to their support network," he says. "It really works."

"When a person is depressed, the natural tendency is to want to withdraw from the very people they need. That's what's so wicked about this illness," he adds. The depressed person might have a support network of concerned people who love him or her, but the depression will make the person unlikely to return phone calls or go out to social events. Eventually, those in the support network might feel rejected and stop trying.

Hagerty and Williams recently received funding from the Blue Cross and Blue Shield Foundation to do a two-year study of adherence to antidepressant medications when prescribed by primary care physicians.

Williams says one of the problems with treating depression is that when the patient begins to feel better, the person might stop treatment. To keep depression at bay, the patient needs to continue treatment, as quitting will cause a backslide.

A death begets a thousand smaller ones

Say a prayer for my mom today. She's trading in my dad's car (Camry) for a new one for her (Toyota Yaris) this evening. It's another one of a thousand little deaths that we've still got to cope with in the aftermath of my dad's fatal heart attack last November.

My dad's car was a big symbol of who he was. It was HIS car. HIS place. Part of HIS little empire. I always associated it with HIM - every time I see the same car driving around, I strain my eyes, peering through the windshield to see who's driving it. Anyone other than him behind the wheel just looks weird.

Up until today it still was full of all his stuff - his sunglasses, his thermos, his coffee cup, his gum, his snacks, his electronic gadgets, his back support cushion. We barely touched it since he died. It was preserved as if he'd just been in there yesterday. Now my Mom has to go into that inner sanctum, that sacred personal space, and clean it all out. I'm sure it will be heart wrenching. She was talking about it a few weeks ago and could barely talk about it without breaking down.

I now know there's not just one death that survivors have to deal with after we lose a loved one. I'm starting to see that the rest of my life will be a journey of surviving a thousand little deaths from now until our own passing. Or at least until our lives have journeyed on to fill in the gaps with new things that my dad was not a part of. Even a year later, I'm still discovering all the ways his existence affected our lives. From what we did for fun, how we celebrated holidays and major milestones, to what we ate to what we talked about and what we could do, and that there just still so many holes in my life.

I think the initial shock of losing someone protects you from all the heartbreaking details that come down the road. And that's good. But now that my "heart anaesthetic" is wearing off, I can see that my dad's death will be affecting me and my family for a long time. Certainly a lot longer than a year - which was the milestone that I was looking towards to "just survive". I was looking forward to completion of this year, as a means to feeling more assured that things were now looking up, but now I see that this pain will likely continue on for some time to come. I'm tired of feeling this pain.

All of this didnt hit me all at once, and its still so hard. It's such a long, difficult road. I don’t know how my mom has it in her to be so strong. I don’t know if I could cope with widowhood with as much strength and dignity that she's showing.

I love you mom, and I'm so proud of you. You've been a shining example on how to retain my dignity as a woman in spite of heartbreaking loss, and to go on bravely, be your own person, and still find the beauty of life and show me that there are a million reasons to want to keep living.

And God, please dont take my Mom from me any time soon. I dont know how I'd cope with that amount of heartbreak all at once.

4:30 am and I'm still awake...

Ok.. I'm still awake from 1:30 that is. My baby has been up off and on all night and I'm exhausted. I dont know if it's her teeth, or what, but she's been up and down every few hours.

I had a hard time going to sleep on account of a lot of work troubles, and now this. I am afraid to go to sleep because it will be so hard to get up. I dont know if I'll be more tired if I get 3 more hours of sleep or if I just push myself through and not sleep at all.

Over the past few days at work, I've come to learn that I'm going to be relocated to another work group. Its been decided that the files that I've been working on are better suited to another group's responsibility, however, this group is not one in which I would have sought work. And the nature of the larger group in which I now report is not an area in which I feel I have a particular expertise or any knowledge. Basically, it doesn't look like a good job fit. And the leader of group that I now have to leave is not offering me an opportunity to stay.

How do I look at this and not take it personally? I have been with that group for 4 years. Recently its come under new direction (while I was away on maternity leave). I came back after leave and was asked to take over a different set of files in the interim, while the person who was working on them went away on education leave. However, now the fact that I'm working on these "interim files" are the reason I'm being pushed out of the door. It has absolutely nothing to do with my skills or past experience.

I really liked working at this place. It had an excellent staff, interesting work, great location, supportive of work-life balance. I really liked the nature of the work (everything except the extreme "RUSH" nature of it). I have a lot of friends there. I didn't really want to leave. I got into the group through the independent competition process, completely legitimately. But now I have been told I have to leave. I have no choice. And this group that I'm leaving is still doing some "hiring" to fill in some vacancies, however it doesnt appear that I'd be given any option to fill one of those positions.

I've done nothing wrong here but go away on leave and happen to come back to the wrong files. I've got more to offer to the group than what I'm doing, and what I'm being offered, but apparently there's no recourse for this. I'm definitely not being seen as a person with a history and a wide variety of skills. Our senior management (higher than the people that have made this decision) has indicated that there is a shortage of people in the branch with skills that I possess. I dont understand. It hurts me so deeply that this has happened TO me, without my knowledge or consent.

And its keeping me up at night.

The person that made this decison wouldnt know me from anyone else on the street. There's no way they actually know my skills, experience and education. But I'm still taking this very personally.. despite the fact that there's no way this could be personal, considering the decision makers don't know me.

How do I deal with this?

Mousecapades, part deux

This morning we awoke to hear the pitter, patter, "ting" of another mouse caught in our live traps.

He was released a short time later in the same location as the first mouse. I hope they have reunited and yesterday's mouse has introduced today's mouse to all his new friends.

Good luck on your new adventures mice!

Pain in the neck

We've all heard that saying.. This is a pain in the neck. I now know where it came from.

Part of my work these days involves getting a mandatory reporting document finished, approved, translated, printed and presented. It's been a real challenge all the way through. I picked the file up this fall and its been challenging before I got it, and its been REALLY challenging since it's been my responsibility.

We're now trying to get it approved. In the past two days I've recieved no less than NINETEEN email comments on various views and questions regarding the routing for approvals, and the timeline that it's on, despite direct instructions from senior management. And it's still not in approvals yet.

The document is due in November, and this stuff is still going on. I'm about to put myself through the paper shredder.

If this doesn't get done, I don't want to be the person that delivers the nasty little package from the Crown lawyers to the Boss' office. I tried hard to get this done. I really did. I busted my butt, all the way through.

However, this whole project, however has felt like one of those dreams where you're being chased by a bad guy and you can't move.

And my neck REALLY hurts.

Mouse witness relocation program

Set a live trap... and catch a live mouse. And then release it back into nature, where it belongs.

I did that this morning.

A few weeks ago my husband noticed some strange gnawing noises in a cupboard above our stove, where we keep our spices and other stuff. I thought he was a bit paranoid and said "I think its just the sound of the fridge, dear". I love my husband, but sometimes he can be a bit over-reactive about things. I am also very much that way, which is why we set each other off. We're the panic twins, trying to run a household and raise a family, with very little experience, under some very trying circumstances.

One day a few weeks ago, after the mysterious munching sounds, a mysterious splatter of brown liquid fell onto the top of the stove. We didnt think much of it as there had been a storm that night and we thought that perhaps some water came in from the ductwork that connected our range-hood fan to the outdoors. The brown liquid didnt smell bad or anything so we figured it was just greasy, dirty water being blown in the ductwork.

Then on Monday, I was looking for some spices in the cupboard and noticed a lot of tiny little plastic bits. Then some tiny bits of tinfoil from an old package of Hershey's kisses. I pulled out a well-chewed plastic bottle of liquid vanilla extract. Aha! The mysterious brown liquid. It had on it the tell-tale gnaws of a hungry mouse. I moved a few things around and saw a mouse-hole, exactly the shape of of mouse-holes in cartoons, drilled into the back wall of the cupboard. I also found an empty bag of pine nuts, with a gnaw-hole in the side, as well as a lot of little black "presents" littered around the cupboard. MMM.. mouse poop. I guess those little brown specks weren't remnants of the Hersheys kisses after all.

As I'm cleaning up the mess (very carefully I might add) my husband was FREAKING, running in and out of the kitchen, lobbing verbal fear-bombs at me. "Don't put that there. Throw that out. Oh my God. Mice are so dirty. Oh my God. Our house is falling apart. First the mouldy bathroom. Now, mice. We can't even keep up with this house. Oh my God".

It wasn't a pleasant experience.

So yours truly not only had to clean up the mess, but I had to do it while listening to the freaked out backseat cleaner.

Overall the mess wasn't too bad and I got a chance to dump all my old spices and buy new ones, so that's good. I've lived in houses with mice in them before, so I'm well aware of how to safely clean up mouse poop. We also brought in an eco-friendly pest control person yesterday to help us seal off the mousy entry points and set live traps to catch-and-release the mice. I feel really good about going that route. With my work and education in ecology and agriculture, I have doubts about using chemicals and more "modern" pest control techniques. We've come a long way since the "old time home remedies" and I've been learning when it comes to sustainable environmental solutions, those old time remedies are the best.

So anyhow, last night around 11:30 pm we heard a "clink" in our mouse-containment cupboard, and then some tiny tapping noises. Success.

Despite me trying to be all tough about it, I'll admit I had a hard time sleeping last night, knowing there was a real live, wild rodent in my kitchen. There was a time when seeing any wildlife, whether it be rural or urban would not have bothered me. As a kid I used to dig up worms and play with them. I used to let bunches of tent caterpillars crawl all over my arms and hands. I'd pick up giant moths, huge beetles, pretty much anything that crawled.

But something has happened in my old age, and now I find myself really scared of bugs, mice, etc.

So we waited until this morning to open the trap. Upon peering in the cupboard, we saw a big fat deer mouse, hiding in its trap. Normally deer mice are tiny, but this bad mamma was either really fat, from all the chocolate it ate from my cupboard, or pregnant.

It now has a new home. It looked pretty happy as it dashed off into the long grass beside a corn field. I hope it has made new friends already.

I'll be sure to release any other mice from my house into the same location so as to maximize the chance of reuniting a family.

Unitalkers

...has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
The life, the love
You die to heal
The hope that starts
The broken hearts
You trust, you must
Confess...

- from "The best of you" by the Foo Fighters

In my life I've had more than my share of experiences with Unitalkers. You know the type. People who just move on in and take over any situation, conversation or interaction with excessive talking, usually about themselves, with little regard to what was going on before they showed up. There's people like this all over the place. You meet them on planes, buses and stores. They're also part of every extended family. There's usually one Uncle, Aunt or Grandparent at every family function that will talk someone into a corner.. and won't even notice they're stressing that person out by doing so.

However, for the most part, these people are usually harmless, and you know that as soon as the situation changes, they'll be gone. They'll soon be relegated to fodder for smalltalk with friends, family and coworkers. But what about those of us who have intense unitalkers who are in a much closer circle?

I dont want anyone to get the wrong impression about what I'm going to say. I loved my Dad with all my heart. He could be fun, boisterous, and I know he loved me and my family dearly. However, my dad, bless his heart, happened to be a unitalker. A very loud, intense one. A lot of time spent with him was spent listening to him talk about his problems, his knowledge, his experiences - such as who cut him off in traffic, who cheezed him off here and there, etc. He was also often very "politically incorrect" and/or would say things that were really inappropriate in certain situations. And he'd say it LOUDLY. Man - his voice could carry across ANY space. He even would talk about things that I knew a LOT about due to my education or work experience, in an authoritarian way, and many times he wasn't even correct. THAT one baffled me. He also used to cut me off in mid sentence in order to talk to my mom. I found that really disrespectful and downright painful. What kind of message did that send me?

In any case, there often was little space for my brother and me (and even my Mom) to talk about our thoughts, wishes, hopes, dreams, fears, experiences and knowledge. I know he meant well, but it was very difficult for us to have our own space in his giant presence.

In the past year, not only am I coming to grips with my dad's death and the major adjustments necessary to become a mother, but I also had the added burden of recovering from postpartum depression, with a strong obsessive-compulsive component. There are many factors that contributed to my PPD/OCD - definitely the subject of another post altogether. As part of my recovery I participated in a support group for moms with PPD. I met some brilliant and wonderful women who are all walking similar roads as myself. We all have different stories, but they are all fraught with incredible challenges, heartbreaking losses, and extremely difficult relationships with our closest family members. These women are my heroes. And yes, most of us have or have had unitalkers in our lives.

Motherhood is a time of extreme transition. We have to go from being the "subordinate child" to being a leader. A parent. One of the heads of a household. Its a major mental shift. It was very hard to do as I had never ever felt THAT important before. I didnt have the self confidence to feel that I could rely on my own self enough to BE the parent that I suddenly needed to be. Growing up with a unitalker really didn't do a lot to help me in this regard (that's an understatement for sure!)

In my PPD recovery before my dad passed away I was struggling with the issue of how to deal with the difficulties and challenges of my relationship with him. I knew deep in my heart that I would have to confront the more painful aspects of his "unitalkingness". The fact that I had a lot of knowledge and experience as an adult in my own right, that I too was important, that I deserved mental space. And that I was DYING inside ever since I was a little girl, for him to see me, to listen to me, to recognize me and to take interest in MY life too. I wanted to feel important, to be recognized, validated and supported by him. That's SO important in a relationship and absolutely CRITICAL in a parent-child one (especially when the child is young). The dynamics of my relationship with my dad were not often that way.

I've had past episodes of depression and each time, I reached the breaking point, I knew that I had to make some changes in a few key relationships in my life, and that one in particular. The last few times I've had to do that, were extremely difficult and painful. I was NOT looking forward to getting into this again.

However, not more than a few days after I came to the realization I had to go there again, my dad was gone.

I'm now left with so many conflicting emotions. Extreme sadness that he's gone and I'll never see him again, and that my daughter will never know him. A broken heart that only the daughter who's lost her father can feel. I feel fear about the future, that he as a "safety blanket" is now gone. Forever. But I'm not particularly upset that I won't have to confront my dad about the nature of our relationship.

Maybe in time, I would have been able to put his behaviour down in the "odd personality quirks" column and not let it get to me so much. Maybe I'd have had the confidence to explain to Abby why sometimes we had to leave Grandpa and Grandma's house early despite having said we'd stay the whole weekend. Maybe I'd have been able to stand by her and explain why Grandpa talked so much and so loudly about things that made her feel uncomfortable. Maybe I'd have been able to stand up to him and define a boundary of appropriate behaviour with respect to her. Maybe he and I would have come a long way to working out our areas of discomfort. Maybe I'd have become a more compassionate towards him - a lot better at recognizing that his "unitalkingness" was really a means for him to control his own inner anxiety and keep his mind occupied away from his own troubles.

Who knows. Or maybe it was never going to be that way, and God stepped in. I dont know. Now I'll never know, and I'm not sure if that's okay.

Motherhood = Scared ****less....

Is motherhood supposed to be this stressful? After a totally stressful day at work, running here and there, trying to get a mandatory Major reporting document that's due in December back on track, I have to dash off to pick up the baby early because her daycare provider has to go to the Doctor. I was looking forward to a nice quiet evening as I was already frazzled from work. I was so happy that I had little to do after the baby's asleep at 7:30 (after my usual gruelling 13 hour day).

Unfortunately, my evening peace was shattered because the baby woke up at 8:00, SCREAMING her head off.. sounding like she's choking. She couldnt, WOULDNT settle down, coughing, crying, fussing, pushing away from us, and screaming this terrible quiet, muffled scream. Her little eyes all puffed up, her breathing and sobbing jagged and scary. Its so scary when they can't talk and they get like this, you have no idea what's wrong. My anxiety levels hit the ROOF. Was she truly choking? Did she have some kind of serious illness all of a sudden? She was fine not an hour earlier.. why did she wake up? What's wrong?

We dosed her up with some baby-Motrin and tried to distract her for about 45 minutes, thinking it was her teeth (she is 15 months old and still no molars). But she kept waking up and screaming. Her times betweens scream-fits started to lengthen, and then by 9:30.. glorious silence. Of course my mind was racing "is she okay? Is she still breathing? Etc. etc..." Its awful the things that used to run through my mind as a mom with postpartum depression. When you're mired in PPD, the preoccupation with the safety of your child becomes crippling, so much so that you won't leave the house most days, leading to reinforcing the horrendous isolation that new mothers often feel. Its so hard to convince myself that everything's going to be okay after that experience, as well as the shocking sudden loss of my father (He died laying on the couch no less! What could be more safe than that?)

I've become so preoccupied with the safety of my remaining loved ones that its crippling sometimes. I still feel it wake me up in the middle of the night, snatch me out of an almost-asleep state and render me in tears. I feel so much anxiety so often as I fear so much another major loss at this time in my life. I wasn't ready to lose my dad at age 35.. I'm certainly not ready to lose anyone else anytime soon.

Last night I finally calmed down enough (with the use of a tiny bit of medication) to get to bed by 11:30 (2 hours well after my usual bed time) and woke up at 4am, anxious as hell. I managed to fall back asleep from 6-7 and I've had the shakes (my husband calls them the "piggly wigglies") ever since. I teetered and tottered around this morning, getting the baby ready for daycare, and headed out into the foggy morning.

Its now 8:45 and I'm already exhausted. I've got two big meetings today and a yoga class tonight. Wish me luck.

P

Into the dark

Into The Dark

Father of mine, one day you did die
But we’ll someday be behind
to follow you into the dark

Were your hands clasped tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark?
Was there blinding light?
And a tunnel to gates of white?

You and we have seen everything to see
From Charlottetown to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down

The time for sleep is now
It's something we cry about
But we'll see each other soon in the whitest of rooms

In Catholic school
As vicious as Roman rule
you got your knuckles bruised by a father in black
I’m sure you didn’t hold your tongue as he said
"Son fear is the heart of love"
And I know you had a hard time going back

But we know heaven will decide
That its rules are satisfied
We’ll all be together when we finish our last ride

What was there to greet you
When your soul embarked?
Someday we’ll know
As we follow you into the dark
You’ll show us our own way through the dark



Apologies to the band "Death Cab for Cutie" - for I ripped these lyrics off from you and edited them for my own purposes. Sorry, but its all in the name of healing.

scared of the challenge

Now that my daughter is 14 months old, I'm starting to feel that its time to prepare for another child. But at this time, I don't think I'm totally ready. I'd like to be able to have a period of non-decision for awhile, and even have the luxury of spacing my children wide apart (4 years or more), but I dont feel I have time on my side. I'm 36 turning 37 in January, and I dont feel I have THAT much time to wait. I hate this battle between my own common sense and knowing my own limits, and ye-olde biological clock, not just ticking loudly but SCREAMING its bloody head off in my ear.

Despite some women having children in their 40's, I have decided to put a limit on my childbearing years (of course I could always change my mind, right?). I dont want to put myself through the worry of having a baby in my 40's, with all those scary risk-of-genetic-problem statistics staring me in the face. Having my first baby at 35 was scary enough for that reason, and the stats were not as scary as they are right now. They will only get worse as I approach 38-39. I also dont want to hear the comments of unsupportive and tactless people who were lucky enough to have been able to have kids in their 20's saying "aren't you too old for a baby"?

The other day, I realized that I'll be just about at retirement age when my daughter graduates from high school. I'm still trying to figure out if that is a good thing or a bad thing. Will I miss out on a chance to further my career without having to be a day-to-day parent again, or will I be ready to retire and focus on myself all of a sudden?

But none of this really was in my hands to manage. For a variety of reasons, I didn't find anyone I wanted to start a family with until I was 31. We didn't marry until 34. I got pregnant on my wedding night so I didnt delay anything there. Part of me regrets that decision as I don't think we'll get a chance to celebrate our wedding anniversaries alone as a couple for the next 15 years. However, I dont regret for a minute the child we wound up creating.

Our daughter is the most amazing, beautiful child I've ever known. I'm so lucky and so blessed to have such an incredible little girl living in my house. She's a total ray of sunshine, every single day. I've not seen a bad mood in that child yet - even when she's sick or teething she still manages to push a smile and a giggle through her tears. She's pure joy, pure happiness, pure self-confidence. I thank God every day that He chose us to be her parents. So on that note.. I start to dream... I can't help wondering if a second one would be just as beautiful and fulfilling, not to mention the fact that we'd be giving our wonderful daughter a sibling....

....and then I snap back to reality.

I am also very aware now, as a parent of a young child, how much work it is to be a parent. And how tired I get dashing to work, dashing to daycare, dashing to get supper on the table, dashing to get Abby to her bath and bed, and then starting the cleanup and laundry until well into the night. Its exhausting. Not to mention the constant worries I have about her safety as she toddles and careens around the house, tripping, falling, crashing, jumping, running.... I wouldnt be as able to watch two kids as closely, I certainly would not have as much time to myself as I do now (with one child and a full time career "me time" is definitely at a premium).

However, this doesnt even compare to the work of her newborn days - when day blurred into night, when she cried and ate round the clock, when I would get habitualized to wake so many times that hallucinated her cries when I was in the shower, and my sleep patterns were so disturbed that I stopped being able to sleep at ALL. Do I really want to go through that again?

Caring for a newborn is hard enough.. but for me, it was harder than most. I suffered a brutal, difficult, gruelling 36 hour, complicated delivery. I severely strained my right rotator cuff, created bleeding "butt fissures" (use your imagination) that lasted for months, and I even cracked a tooth that needed repair shortly afterwards. I hemmorrhaged quite badly afterwards, and our baby was exhausted and had to spend the first night outside the womb in the NICU. I needed lots of help just for myself. I was so overwhelmed, sore and sick by the time I went home with my baby. In addition to everything else I had, I had a nasty urinary tract infection, a bad case of anemia and a burgeoning gallstone problem that had not yet reared its ugly head.

After 8 weeks of this, the pressure became all to great and I had a nervous breakdown and wound up in intensive treatment for postpartum depression. It was all I could do to convince myself I could get through the day alone with a baby, and here I go wanting another one?

I wish I could discuss this more with my husband, but he's admitted he's still so nervous with our daughter that he's not even sure how he's going to make it through the end of today with her, let alone PONDER another one. And I have to admit, that I feel that way too a good part of the time.

However, some days I look at how far I've come as a mother, a grieving daughter, and also as a patient. The capacity for the human mind and body to heal is truly amazing. On these days, I wonder, if the anxiety we're feeling now will come back to bite us in the butt with the deep sting of regret should we choose to cave into our anxieties and not have another baby.

I'm already seeing the paybacks of our early parenting months and years in the absolute JOY that my daughter has within her. Each smile, each giggle, each hug just puts me on a high that I'm sure NO drug could ever match. The warmth of us sitting around the table, having dinner, or heading outside as a family, to the park to play is so incredible.

With everything that happened during the birth and afterwards, I think its natural for us to be scared. But I have to believe that the second time around would be different. I hope I've learned some valuable lessons on my limits and what can happen if I continue to push myself way beyond them, and when and HOW to ask for help that I might need in the future. Maybe we'll have less down time, thats a given for the first year of a baby's life anyhow. Should we try for another one, we'll definitely have to be more creative. If we expand our network of babysitters and caregivers, better schedule our "me" and "us" time, and pray that things will work out for the best, how can we go wrong?

Fighting for a week

My husband and I have been FIGHTING almost constantly for seven days. And man am I tired.

My H and I have been through a lot, raised in environments where we've never felt free to be ourselves, to be masters of our own destiny. We've always had to cater to the controlling whims of adults (my father and his mother) who couldn't let us be US. And we're battling it out between ourselves now. Unfortunately, we're too old for this crap now. We have our own child to focus on, someone who needs us to be mature and responsible and able to be there for her. Our fighting just seems stupid and juvenile, some of the things we fight over I can't even believe that we are doing so.

I'm not sure where reality ends and begins and the power struggle begins. I'm so tired and I have other things I would like to focus my energy on, but I can't seem to get to them. I'm either recovering from yet another illness or infection (this time the female "triple crown - digestive, yeast and bladder - all at the same time) and I'm not up to it, or I'm so stressed that I'm not sleeping (and therefore too tired to do anything to improve myself) or just plain old overwhelmed with this fighting, and the demands of work and home.

I am not always the easiest person to get along with, that I know. I have high standards for people. I demand and expect people to continue to grow, to challenge themselves, and only to rest when they're really in need of a rest, and not to sit back on their laurels and coast, but to continually work to improve themselves and the lives of others around them.

Some people have thanked me for it, such as my mother who I really pushed to finish those last few courses so she could graduate from her B.A. in 2001. Others have really been angry with me for it, like those ex-boyfriends who thought I was an unloving, dissatisfied woman. I think my husband is not sure which camp I belong in. Lately I'm sure he's seeing me in the latter. But I'm not sure if its because I really am that way, or if he's too afraid to take the steps he wants to take in order to follow along the path of self improvement, and I'm catching the flak for that anxiety. I'd like to believe that scenario, rather than the one that puts me in the role of a controlling monster.

Am I an energetic optimist, someone who thinks that life can be better if we all put in a little more effort, and am always ready and eager to feel that sense of accomplishment? Or am I really someone who's never satisfied, always demanding, never relenting?

Great Gifts

Ok. Upon reading my blog so far, it really focuses on all the pain and strife I've experienced in the past year or so. And that's kind of the purpose of this site. To work through these things on the bumpy ol' road to healing (or better health, or whatever it is down the road).

But I dont think I'd be able to deal with all of this stuff without humour. Sometimes at the blackest times and on the blackest subjects I've had the most bizarre and funny thoughts. Most times I dont say what's on my mind, but with the right company, I feel free to say it. The weird, black humour is a trait I've inherited from both my parents I think. They both have/had the ability to be a bit weird and creative in their view of the world. They did make a great team in that regard. Its horrendously sad to see that team broken up by death. These same types of thoughts seem to come from nowhere inside of me and come spilling forth. One example last Thursday:

I was at my mom's house and I saw a letter addressed to my deceased father (it sounds weird to call that house my mom's house when it used to be "my parents' house" and before that "home"). It was a letter stating that he was being called for jury duty. I looked at the letter and said to my mom "don't you think they need to get their records updated? It *is* the provincial government that issues birth and death notices, right?".

We weren't sure, so we proceeded to look through the letter, and noted there were several scenarios that could get one out of jury duty. One of them was having a "medical condition". Another one was a "severe disability". My mom and I got this dumb smirk on our faces and said "oh, Dad would LOOOOOVE this one.. we should TOTALLY toy with this...". I then went on to say "in his memory, I DARE you to call them and say:

"Bah.. Mr. Story is just not going to come. You don't really want him to attend".

.....Wait for a bureaucratic reaction......

Typical reaction expected (snotty tone bureaucrat): "Um.... Um... I"m sorry, this is a mandatory request and he must be there. There are serious penalties for not adhering to this request."

Our response back: "Oh, I dont think they'd be that serious".

Expected reaction: "Yes they are very serious. Mr. Story could be charged with an offence".

Our response: "ok then, there really is a very serious reason that he can't be there".

Expected bureaucratic response: "The situations in which someone is exempt from jury duty are duly outlined in the letter that is attached to to the summons. Please have Mr. Story read this and be aware of these situations".

Our response: "Well we noted that two of these situations include a serious medical condition, or a serious disability, right?"

Expected bureaucratic response (typically getting more angry and condescending as the conversation progresses) "yes, do either one of these situations apply to Mr. Story???"

Our response: "um, Yes. He's got a very bad disability/medical condition. He's been dead since November 2005".

Bureaucratic response: "umm...."


We HOWLED with laughter over that scenario. If you'd known my dad when he was alive, you'd know why that's funny. He loved toying with "rules and protocol" - always trying to look at things outside the box, pulling apart and analyzing incoherent and illogical rigid arguments. I loved that part of him, and its something that I've inherited as well. When posed with something that really doesn't make sense, instead of grumbling or feeling trapped or oppressed, Our minds would spin.... WHY do we have to do this? Can this be changed? Why are we adhering to this rule when its really stupid? Who made this up? What's the history, the context, the rationale? Can't we do something about it? Can't we make this world a better place?

Another thing thats funny about that scenario - those of us who are grieving see weird sides of people and society when it comes to death. Especially the major discomfort that people have when discussing it. People are quick to give you a hug or a word of support in the early days, when someone has just died, but over the long term, they just seem to stop talking about the death, and move on. And they are LOATHE to actually use the term "dead". Its almost shocking to say it out loud, but those of us who are grieving have been encouraged to use it, rather than some of the fluffier euphemisms such as "passed away" or "passed on". We're told that using the real word, DEAD, helps us accept the reality and not pave over the hard cold reality that someone's gone forever. So my mom, brother and I make a point of actually using the real word, no matter the discomfort of others.

We are the ones who have to accept his death the most. We bear the daily pain of missing him, of seeing his empty chair at the table, of seeing his shoes in the closet, of wondering what to do with his books and papers, of putting to rest his lifetime of hopes, dreams, love, pain, failures and successes, and integrating it into our lives so we can move forward without him.

On that note, Dad, thanks for your gifts of humour and idealism. They serve me well every single day. I love you, and I miss you like crazy.

Its definitely fall now...

Ok, not officially, but in this northern land of ours, fall comes early. The high temperatures struggle to reach over 25'c and the nights are downright chilly. I even saw some red tinged maple leaves on the drive home from my annual girls summer cottage weekend.

I'm feeling a lot of weird, strong feelings right now. And for the most part, they're not very pleasant. A lot of significant things have happened in September. In September 1988, I moved out of my parents house - a naiive, anxious 18 year old ready to take on the world (ok that was an exaggeration - I didnt adapt well to living on my own for a long time - now part of me misses it like crazy!!!).

On Sept 11 (2001 no less), my husband and I had our first date. On September 6, 2004, we got engaged. On September 25, 2004, we got married. In September 2005, my postpartum depression hit critical mass and I was almost hospitalized. I also started to distance myself from my father, because our volatile relationship was very emotionally threatening to me at the time. Unfortunately, he died suddenly very shortly thereafter. That's a horrible pain that still haunts me. I think about how I was feeling last year at this time, mired in pain, but had no idea things were going to go from bad to worse (to even worse).

How blind I was to the pain that was right around the corner, to the loss of my father, to the illnesses and pain and surgery I was about to experience, and to the relationship turmoil that was about to get much, much worse as my husband confronted a major demon and prosecuted someone who hurt him very badly.

Returning to work after a year off has also resulted in a lot of changes on that front. I'd love to say things are wonderful and my work environment is as supportive and stimulating as it was several years ago, but I don't like to lie. Its very hard to be a working mother, to have to hold up two major roles in life, when one of them, although rewarding, is very draining by its nature (motherhood) and the other one, leaves a lot to be desired in terms of support.

I can't be drained like this in two major aspects of my life at the same time. I've spent a lot of time and a huge amount of effort digging me out of mental illness after the birth of my daughter and the death of my father, and I'm terrified of going back there. I feel this drain on my soul, my spirit and my energy every day I'm here.

One of my inspirations to start this blog (other than my H and my desire to heal from my current emotional pain) is a new friend of mine, part of a wacky group of girlfriends that I've met in recent years. I think they're a major part of why I have stayed sane during all the pain and upheaval in my life. She's been through a lot of crap the past few years and she's still going.... if she's still going, then so can I. She's got a very inspirational blog that really lit a fire under me to write my own.

Awhile back, on her blog "write soon" she posted:

"I don’t believe that a person can ever lose all hope. They may not realize that they still have the ability within and sometimes, they give up before finding it. But I think we all have within us the ability to hope and the need to trust in it. Sometimes, it takes our loved ones to find it for us.... and sometimes, it takes a whole heck of a lot of messy, terrible, bad things in our lives before we can get quiet enough to hear that ever-glowing whisper within us. But that tiny whisper can build mountains. All we have to do is have faith in it. It will do the rest."

I'm hoping you're right Kimmy, because I'm really, really scared right now.

Feels like fall, and my heart's breaking

This week its gotten quite chilly in comparison to the weather we've had since May. Its been outrageously hot and humid for months and all of a sudden its dry and chilly. Hot in the day indeed but it cools off overnight and the mornings are downright chilly. Sweater weather until noon some days!

With the change in the weather, its definitely starting to feel like fall. I usually love fall with all the same intensity of a giddy schoolgirl, but this year, I'm not looking forward to it.

Last year at this time I was entering the hardest period of my life. And I've had hard times before. But this year was a doozy.

Hard times gone by include those years when my dad was really ill, or in a really bad addiction phase, or even the year I broke up with my first boyfriend and moved back in with my parents, was an unemployed university graduate and suffered my first depressive episode. But this year marks the 1 year anniversary of two really difficult experiences.

First - I had a baby girl last summer. She's now the love and joy of my life, but last year marked such a difficult transition to motherhood. I had a very very difficult and traumatic birth experience, one that left me exhausted and freaked out with PTSD. It was so hard to get up and care for the baby with all the pain and exhaustion and anxiety I was feeling. I pushed myself so far over the limits of what I or any human could probably handle, and suffered a serious breakdown as a result. Breastfeeding wasn't going well, so I decided to pump and bottle feed, which was like feedign twins (I had to wake myself up when the baby was sleeping to pump). That, combined with the stress and strain of being a new parent, and the extreme sleep deprivation, I suffered with depression, anxiety, obsessive thinking, serious delusions and extreme insomnia for months. I had to come to terms with a lot of pain that I'd brought with me from my past, major insecurities and blows to my confidence. It took a lot of work to get through that. I also had some major health issues that weren't helping much. I had a very resistant kidney infection, strep throat, many colds, three cases of the stomach 'flu, and even a series of extremely painful gallstone attacks that required surgery in January 2006.

Just as I was starting to think that maybe things would be okay psychologically, I got the terrible news of my dad's death. That experience just knocked me back, further back than I think I had been even before the baby.

Now that the weather is turning a bit colder, I'm starting to remember the pain of late last summer and early fall. I do feel much happier this year, much more healthy, much more healed, but I know this fall is going to be painful. I had an anxiety attack in the middle of my soccer game yesterday thinking about it. Remembering all the difficult times last fall, how depressed I was (I really thought about suicide a lot) and the fact that my dad is still gone and how much has happened that he's not been a part of over the past year.

I'm not sure how to manage it, if I should just go with the feeilngs, let them come and hit me wherever and whenever, or if I should try to talk myself through it - to tell myself that these are just anniversary anxieties, and to tell myself to look at how far I've come and that I should feel proud of myself for all that I've accomplished.

I'm not sure the best approach. I have to feel these feelings, not stuff them inside, otherwise the repressed anxiety will no doubt do funny things to me. But I am not looking forward to the feelings of helplessness that come when something totally unexpected and really painful happens to you.

Its funny - as humans we are creatures that have highly developed brains and emotions. We think we have developed some "mastery" over our environment and our world. We have developed highly complex systems and institutions that help to keep us sane and develop a feeling of safety. Yet despite all of our trappings, we still live in a world where we still cannot control major life altering experiences and painful changes. Its like we delude ourselves into a false sense of security that's really not there at all.

Are we really doing ourselves a favour by pretending we have some control over all of this, when really we have no control over much at all?

Missing Pieces and Midnight Visits

My brother and mom are in the air right now, flying back from a trip out west. I wish I could have gone with them, but I'm here, with "responsibilities" (a daughter). I hope my mom found the trip helpful and healing, as its the first time she's travelled out there since my dad died in November 2005. I lost my dad nine months ago, and I'm so afraid of losing my mom now. I guess its normal to be that way after you suddenly, shockingly lose one parent in the prime of their life (late prime, but still prime nonetheless).

I wonder what my mom's going to do with her life now, almost at retirement, no kids at home and no husband... what will she spend her time doing? What will she find rewarding to fill that hole that my dad left in her life, in all of our lives? How will all of our lives change after his passing?

Me, well I'm still shaking. Literally. I'm like a child taking her first steps, or someone teetering on a balance beam for the first time. I feel so lost, and wobbly. My dad had such a huge presence, a loud booming voice, he was anything but subtle and quiet. I feel like the edges of the hole he left in our lives is softening just a bit, the pain is not all consuming and raw all the time, but the giant hole is still there, and the pain is still very much just under the surface.

I had a dream about my dad the other night. My mom and brother were staying in my house, and they had just had a "run in" with my dad. See, my dad was a good guy at heart, but he had a lot of hangups - issues with addictions, anxiety, depression that were never treated well. A lot of it was the product of his times - there wasn't much for depressed men to do in the 1970's except self-medicate with alcohol, so thats what he did. He lost his parents young, and I'm sure that left a giant hole in his heart. I now know what it feels like to be a young person grieving a parent.

My dad had a difficult relationship with his father and his siblings that he never really seemed to resolve. He didnt have any higher education, in fact, I think he was a high school dropout, and he just had to get along by the seat of his pants. Which was difficult for him, but he did quite well actually. He was truly the smartest person I know - intelligence anyhow, sometimes he was not so smart when it came to relating to others, and to himself.

I really believe my dad and I had some kind of psychic connection. Something deep and dark and ancient and Celtic. I always knew when something was wrong with him, even before someone told me. The night he died I was up all night, feeling really cold, and I even went to sit in Abby's room and just sit there. I was sitting up at 3 am, shivering, feeling all kinds of weird rushes in my body and soul. I feel like he was just an extension of my soul, the other side of a coin. I stubbed my toe and his foot hurt, he had a headache and I took an aspirin, that kind of thing. We had the same silly rashes and allergies, the same sort of itchy feet and funny skin. We also are the only ones in the family to share dark dark hair and dark dark eyes. Even my own daughter is a caramel-blonde blue-eyed girl. When my dad was self-destructing six years ago, I instinctively knew something was wrong just from the fact that he didnt call me back one night. He always called me back. The next day I didnt hear from him and I hopped in my car and drove an hour to see if he was okay, only to have to take him to the hospital. He wasn't all right, and I knew it.

Anyhow in my dream, my dad was going through one of his self destructive episodes, where he was ranting and raving and freaking out and taking all kinds of substances. My mom and brother were really freaked, saying they didnt want him back alive bad enough for him to put them through that stuff again.

I panicked, and I ran out of my house and went to my parents place (in my dream of course) and picked him up in my car, and we drove to this forested, happy looking place. There were small, moving organisms running around us, in a playground type setting. I'm pretty sure it symbolized playing with Abby at a playground, but all the kids were these funny kinds of cartoon blocks, but they were playing and running just like kids. My dad was getting a kick out of all the action. He watched Abby slide down a slide and he was so impressed.

I've had similar dreams before when people I know have died. They generally follow a pattern - first the person is in the dream, they're back and we're talking together. Then they start to "cut out" - they're here and then they disappear, then they're back and gone again. The next series of dreams they are further away from me, walking far away, on the horizon, across a field, just out of contact. Then the dreams shift to those of us left behind, we're sitting and talking about the deceased person, but the person's no longer there.

My first dreams about my dad when he first passed away was him sitting with us, looking really sheepish and apologizing all over the place for dying and putting us through such pain. He's looking down at the table and feeling really bad. The next series of dreams, he's walking among us, but I'm saying to him "you know you're dead, right" and he says "Oh, yeah thats right" and then he disappears. Or we're spending time in a usual, family way (hanging out, watching TV, driving somewhere) and he's there, then he's not and he "cuts in and out" like an intermittent tv signal. I've not had any dreams at all lately though, this is the first one I've had in a long time. And this is the first one where I really feel like I'm communicating with him still.

I know that some people will say that this is just my subconscious, working out the loss. Maybe it is. But I'm grateful for the dreams that I have, because I really believe that its him, talking to me from the next life, travelling to see me on our spiritual, psychic connection. When I wake up from a dream like this, I really feel good and I really feel like I've actually seen him and spent time with him.

I hope he and I we can spend some time together some night soon. Come over sometime Doots, I miss you. I've got so much to tell you and so much to ask you.

Best intentions

My mind and my family exists to spite me. I'm sure. I've not caught up on my sleep since last Friday, and I've been trying to go to bed earlier, only to toss and turn and wake up exhausted. I even played soccer last night against my better judgement (heel pain still bad) so I could really exhaust myself, and wound up with a migraine instead that kept me up until at least 2am. How's that for justice?

So I was tossing and turning until 2am, and I got up and sent an email into my office to say I'd not be in today. I also left three notes for my husband to NOT wake me up (I was sleeping in the spare room downstairs) and he goes down and wakes me up at 6am anyhow. Didnt even check the notes. Now I can't get back to sleep - its not being helped by him yelling at me from upstairs over what to get for lunch, or where the car keys are.

I'm home becuase I"m not feeling well. I need to sleep. But I can't. Either someone wakes me up or keeps me awake (hence my frequent sleeping in the spare room), or my mind is racing about all the things in my life that are uncertain. The sleeplessness twists and contorts things so that I"m even more anxious, and we're off - the house seems worse than I've ever seen it, my relationship with my husband is as bad as I've ever seen it, and my job is the worst thing in the world. Thats what sleep deprivation does to me. Makes everything look so much worse.

Its been such a joy to have had some sleep lately, over a long period of time, but this past 7 days its been a chore to get sleep. Even with the medication, its just not happening.

I may be getting into a tolerance-withdrawal type situation with my medication, I'm not sure. But I'm not going to take any more, and in fact, I'm trying to cut down. I saw what addiction to these drugs did to my dad six years ago, and I'm not going there. Even now I'm not sure how I'm going to get off them without some kind of medically supported (even hospitalized) approach.

And none of this is helping my self confidence any. I didnt ask for the events of the past year (or years) to come along, and I'm really doing the best I can. I'm a good person, a nice person, a smart person, a dedicated, excellent employee, a great wife and mother, but I think that all of this personal crap is making me look really bad. I think I've paid a great personal price, primarily in the confidence and optimism department for all these things that have always been out of my control.

Work is bothering me a great deal at the moment. I think my professional image started to tank when I was pregnant as I didnt have a very good pregnancy. It didnt help that two others in my office were also pregnant at the same time and seemed to manage the demands of pregnancy and the demands of work with flying colours. I wasn't so lucky. I was so tired, and so stressed about previous pains and abuses and losses in my life and it was culminating in a really strained relationship with my parents and husband at that time, that everything became too much. I also had a lot of pregnancy complications, was very tired, and gained a lot of weight, which didnt help me in the mobility department. I was in a lot of pain a lot of the time. So, as a result, I dont think I portrayed a very professional image, and for that I'm very sad, becuase anyone who knew me prior to the pregnancy who could vouch for my skills and commitment and experience has moved on to another position elsewhere, and I have no idea where the group is headed at the current time. Most people there share the same sentiment about feeling lost and excluded, and the enviroment feels more the proverbial "rats deserting a sinking ship" than the collegial, supportive, invigorating environment that it was when I joined the group in 2002. I think I'm going to have to make a change in that part of my life.

None of what happened to me - to us even (my husband and I that is) - that has made our life difficult was our fault. He didnt ask to be victimized as a child, I didn't ask to be born into an abusive, mental-illness-addiction-ridden household. I didnt ask for my dad to be suicidal, I didnt ask for him to be an addict, I didnt ask for him to have a severe anger problem that he took out on his wife and kids, and I certainly didnt ask for my mom to find him suddenly dead on the couch one morning last November.

But here we are. And it happened. And we're doing the best we can. But most of the time, I think all of us stuck in this spiral of pain - my mom, my brother and my husband, we think that we're not good enough, because we compare ourselves to others who seem to be just able to handle so much more. Others I know seem to manage a family of wonderful children, magnificent careers, a giant house thats always being renovated or decorated in the latest styles, two or three beautiful vehicles (always clean of course), going on fantastic vacations, so many things, when we feel we can barely get through the day most days. Even those in my life who are having troubles of their own seem to be shining in one area of their life - doing well on the career front, or taking time off to care for their child or children full time. Right now I feel like a major incompetent overweight nobody who can't do anything well at all.

So I compare myself, and find yet another thing to feel bad about - this time self-imposed. Or maybe my survival instincts that push me to do that. I think I learned not to expect much from myself and my environment in order to just put up with long-term difficult situations. A kind of "learned helplessness" so to speak. Its a shame that survivors learn to survive by putting ourselves down, when in reality, we all deserve a hero-medal just for being here.

And I wonder why I can't sleep at night.

Groundhogs

My backyard is gorgeous tonight. It faces south-west and its not got much tree cover, so there's lots of happy sunshine wafting through the yard. The sprinkler is spraying some much needed moisture across the weeds that pose as my back lawn. We didnt get out much to mow the lawn last summer on account of having a newborn to care for, and the grass got replaced by a whole bunch of other plants instead. Many people might call them weeds, but I have to admit I kind of like the multi-level look they get after they start to grow a bit.

The sun shining through the sprinkler is making a rainbow of tiny droplets as they spray and fall on the lawn - er - ecosystem. Its beautiful. I wish I could capture the smell and the view and the feeling and put it in a jar for mid-January when all is dark and cold and depressing. There's something about my backyard - er - urban meadow that's always made me feel really calm and happy, I dont know what it is. My house is nothing remarkable, and my backyard is pretty nondescript, but I love it nonetheless. Maybe because its mine. It symbolizes a new start, a potential family life that is minus the stress and strife I grew up with. I feel like I can truly be safe in my own backyard.. wow, my own backyard. I can plant flowers, I can compost my own vegetable and fruit wastes, I can't believe it sometimes.

It took me so long to achieve this, that I sometimes sit back and wonder how I got here. Then I remember all the bad times, my dad's addictions and suicidal tendencies, my resultant depressions, the recession and government cutbacks of the 80's and '90's when I was looking to make my start in the work world, the not-so-good boyfriends, the stupid choices I made, and the resulting insecurity that still plagues me as a result and realize I've paid my dues, I should dam* well enjoy my backyard and everything in it. Even if the only thing in it is an overmature hedge, a very old lilac tree in need of pruning, a composter, a plastic kids pool and a fledgling garden planted this year.

Ah, the backyard...

In addition to the weeds, a family of groundhogs moved in under our deck last summer, for the same reason as said weeds moved in. I guess it's true that nature abhors a vacuum. With the absence of the human inhabitants of this house out there last summer, a whole new ecosystem has moved in.

Right now one of the groundhogs (we have named them "Gus" and "Gus' Girlfriend"), is trying to make a break for the groundhog hole under the deck, however, the sprinkler is making it an interesting challenge for her. The giant rodent (ever seen the teeth on a groundhog up close? Scary!) is sprinting around the edges of the yard, not quite sure what's going on.

I've had a nature-vs.-human battle all summer with the groundhogs, so its quite amusing to watch one of them get all hot and bothered trying to dodge the spray. We've pretty much been locked in a spy vs. spy. war over my back garden since the spring. I have tried to fill in the entrance way to their hole, and they've dug it out. I sprinkled hot pepper powder on my flowers, they just waited 'till it rained and gnawed away. I've put sticks and chicken wire up to try to get them to dodge my plants, but no luck. There's pretty much no plants at all growing within 4 feet of the entrance to their lair. Every time I try to put up some device to deter them from gnawing on my horticultural handiwork, they manage to find a way around it, and chew up my flowers anyhow.

Last year I wanted to get an animal control company to remove them, but this year, they've kind of grown on me, despite their destructiveness. I just hope that maybe they'll get annoyed and move on to another yard if I bug them enough. After all the heartbreaking change I've had endure in my life over the last year, I dont think I have the heart to inflict this on them. They had to move in because their own cover was blown last year when the neighbours took down their shed, so where is a lost family of groundhogs to go?

I've always thought there was a higher purpose to us finding this house so quickly. It did feel like there was some higher power sitting on my shoulder the day we bought this place. We found it so easily, the first day out looking, the fourth house we visited, on Valentine's Day no less. I thought that maybe this house was a step on the journey of bigger and better things, but lately with everything that's gone on in my life, the illnesses, the depression, the grief and the pain of the last 12 months, I wonder if this house really appeared to us in order to be a shelter for the lost, the sad, the grieving and the wounded.

On that note, maybe the displaced groundhogs have a right to be here as much as we do.

Friday zombie

Ok. I officially had a super crap sleep last night, the first time in a long time. It was hot, despite the air conditioning, and my lower back was aching like crazy. I cant find anywhere comfortable to sleep. The pain even permeated my drug-induced semi-coma that I require these days to sleep.

I had a bad stair-fall accident about 10 years ago and I crushed my pelvis and tailbone. It hurt so bad I just about passed out. I didn't break anything but I sure did bruise everything in there and its never felt quite right since. Its always painful since that time - either slightly or majorly (such as last night). Being pregnant and gaining all that weight last year certainly didnt help the region either. Back to the last "twenty" or so pounds....

I dont know what happens when you just bruise bones, but I think there's some new lumps and bumps down there in the joints and some nerves are some irritated. It hurts really really badly some days.

So, I did manage to fall sleep at 10:30 but was awake at 4am. Couldnt get back to sleep. Pain was intense. So I ruminated about work, my worries about all the changes, what if I get stuck in a dead end position where I can't grow and then I can't get a better job someday, what if my new managers/directors dont see me as the capable and smart person that I know I am and I get a job thats not very challenging or career promoting, etc. etc.

The bone pain was still pretty tremendous by 5:30 so I broke down and took two muscle relaxants. I couldnt wake up and was late for work.

I worry about work because I'm the main breadwinner in my family. I'm in a kind of reversal family situation, I make about 3x my husband's salary so I can't afford to get in a position where I'm underperforming, frustrated, dead-ended. Well I guess I could, but it might be awfully unpleasant and frustrating.

Why do I worry about such stupidity when I know there are people out there with bigger things to worry about in this world? Like life and death. The unrest in Lebanon. Leafs vs. Sens (kidding!)

I think the situation at work is triggering something painful from my past that I fear being repeated. It may be due to the fact that I've lived a life where many people have pegged me to be something and someone different than I really am. And I've paid dearly for it in tears and heartbreak. I'm a nice person, very nice, but some people have concluded otherwise. Why, I dont know. I'm pretty direct about some things, and I don't kiss butt very well, and I can be very very shy sometimes, especially if I dont know someone very well. I've also had depression, which has not always made me the easiest person to get along with, but that was not me. That was the illness.

Also on a few occasions in the past, I've also been chased by some guys I wasn't interested in, and when I had to tell them so, they really turned on me. Nasty. Huge anger problems. Stalker city. Very scary. I think in a way I learned to stay distant from people as a result of those experiences. So, maybe as a result, some people have made me into a cold fish, or even a monster, and really hurt me because of it(ex- boyfriends, you know who you are). . When all I really wanted was to love and be loved. Plain and simple.

I like to think I'm also pretty smart cookie, and many people tell me that I am. I feel I can contribute a lot to the workplace, my community, my country, the world, but I'm not in a position of power. I'm in a position where I need a benevolent manager or director to allow that to happen. And I'm worried that might not happen, but I'm not in a position to feel comfortable moving elsewhere. I worry about not finding a group that is family-supportive, that is, patient if I have to come in late or leave early some days because of my daughter's daycare schedule, or be patient with my extreme tiredness if I've been up all night tending a sick child. I have wanted a family for so long, and I'm really happy to have one, but I dont want it to be a career liability. Especially as I'm the mom, AND the main breadwinner.

Why do men with kids not fall into the realm of having made "career-limiting choices" but women do? My husband is as nurturing and as "motherly" as I am towards our child, and he has had to make a lot of workplace adjustments to care for her as well, yet I'm sure his coworkers and his boss don't see him being a new dad as being career limiting. Then again the career he's in is self-limiting anyhow!

Bah, I should stop ranting and raving and appreciate what I do have. Its harder though, when I'm so tired.

Praying for sleep.

Moving on while staying still

I work in a very fluid environment. No, I'm not a diver, or a dolphin trainer, or a sailor. I work in a "policy shop" in the government. Might sound exciting or tremendously boring, depending on who is reading this, but its really an interesting job.

I've not been here long but I'm one of the "long timers" now. Its pretty wild to see the turnover here. Its not because its a bad place to work, I guess, its just the nature of the work, and the people we hire. They're all intelligent, and very employable elsewhere, and there's a shortage of people like us in the government. So they always get opportunities elsewhere, and move on. I've made many friends here, and I miss so many of them. I just get to know them as a good friend and they move on. I miss them. Friends have always been important to me.

I've noticed that even though I'm not in a position in my life where I'm personally looking to move on, that things around me move on, and I find myself in a new position, just by staying still. With all the changes in my life recently I decided the time was not right to look for something new, but to stay put. But even staying put is not staying the "same". I wish it was, but it appears there's no breathers on this marathon of life.

So much change in my life lately has thrown me for a complete loop. I met my husband (re-met, but thats the subject for another post) in 2001, bought a house in April 2004, got married in September 2004, got pregnant right away, had a baby nine months afterwards (June 2005), then my dad died in November 2005. Up until Abby's birth, I still saw myself as a "kid", going home, raiding my parents' fridge, dropping in on them, sleeping in, pillaging their cupboards, getting their help for everything and anything, and suddenly, months later, I'm a mother, and I only have one living parent. Its been an awfully hard transition. I'm still shaking.

I miss my dad like crazy. I'm finding that as time goes on (its been seven months now) that I'm starting to forget just a little bit, what his voice sounded like, its not in my head all the time like it used to be. I'm starting to forget the little things that made him a human - what his hair looked like, his silly old-man-ish mannerisms, his gnarled up funny toenails, the sound of the ice cubes clattering in the glass when he put together a drink of ice tea or lemonade, the sound of him burping or clearing his throat. I never want to forget those noises, and it just devastates me to know that I'll never hear those noises again. I wish I'd audio-taped them, just to remember. Or maybe I dont want to remember, the pain of this loss is so debilitating still that maybe that would just be too much.

Daddy, I miss you. I wish you could come and see me and tell me everything was going to be okay. Will everything be okay? Tell me, and tell me again.