Terrific Tuesday?

I'm trying to find some inspiration, encouragement, motivation. Because the first day of new normal sucked. I mean, I did achieve some things, Hallelujah. But one of the things I am working toward is keeping the kitchen up and running. To do this, I cannot have sinks piled with dishes. Which leads to a frustration with my resolve to do more cooking/baking. Um, yeah. I made muffins (from scratch, not a mix) yesterday and we had a home-cooked meal from our meal delivery service. There are dishes everywhere. And I have been working hard to try and keep up. *sigh* Today I feel like yesterday was a lot of running on my hamster wheel. Running, with intent, until I'm tired, to get off the wheel and find that I am still exactly where I started. Actually, no. Because I lost ground yesterday. I can't quite figure out a fitting comparison. (Which is weird, because I live my life in a world of movie clips, song clips, and analogies). Anyway, yesterday was a huge disappointment and today's challenge (should I choose to accept it), will be to be the example my kid needs and to try, try again, and never give up. Because if yesterday was any sort of example of what life is going to be like when I work from home, I quit. Wait, no. I can't. Ugh.

I am loving the daily writing.

Today's thoughts about hope and the good in life... I love the beautiful plants that I brought home that were gifts from significant people in Dad's life. Today's goal includes finding a place for them that is NOT the kitchen table. I am inspired by the birds that sing and provide daily hope and inspiration. I love open-window season. I will focus on the things I can change today. And let go of the rest.

Slippery Slopes and the edge of hell

Today, the first day, of the rest of my life. Or at least the new normal. What does that even mean?! Well, I guess for one thing, I means.... work. Except I don't have any. Work. To speak of. But the past two weeks of "Spring Break" are over and at the very least, Punky has school. But we all know languishing in a limbo state is not productive. And I have a million dreams to accomplish before summer's end. So here I go. I sit here with my coffee and my sleepiness and my computer. And I dream of the things I could accomplish today. The endless possibilities. But dreams don't pay bills and sitting here scheming won't push me past the finish line. Hell, it won't even force me past the starting line. So I am up, my brain still full of cobwebs and a misty sort of fog. And I am preparing to prepare. This is where I get lost in a hellish sort of detail-oriented organization. This is my morning mental exercise, writing. After this, I'll make a list, which will, in turn, mentally and emotionally drain me. I'll probably be too overwhelmed to find a starting point. Often this is the end of the journey. But I need to press on. For me. For my Punky. For my other daughters. For my students, who are not my students anymore. But a part of my life.

My life changed 3 weeks ago. The day my dad moved on and went from one life to the next. The day that my heartache became a part of every heartbeat. The day the sun stopped shining. For a full 10 days. Until the day of his funeral when the clouds broke and the sun shone through and God's promise showed up in the form of a rainbow.

I know they say that it will get better. And there are those times when I am quite functional. I would almost say, fully functional. But I've been sliding down a slippery slope for a while now. For much longer than my Dad has dominated my life, my thoughts, my every move. For over two years. I have been sliding down the there's-not-enough-of-me-to-do-all-the-things slope. And when you are on this slope, not only is this a very real realization, but you are helpless to conquer the beasts of every day life. And I didn't really go down in a glorious fashion, a landslide or an avalanche. I just kept sliding. Further and further from the ability to juggle everyday life. So my life has been on a slippery slope for much longer than 3 weeks. And if I am going to find some sort of new normal, some sane way to overcome where I am at, I am going to have to keep going. Pushing forward with my grief-stricken soul and my sadness and my inadequacy and find a new balance and some way to feel at ease in this new life. I have to be me. The new me. The sad me. The authentic me. And I have to be a parent and an artist. I have to. For me. For my kids. For the sake of life and it's need to keep going.

Possibilities vs. Obstacles

I feel the inkling of hope in my bones. I am coming around to where I was at some earlier point in this FMLA/loss-of-my-daddy/funeral/Coronavirus/no-more-teaching kind of life. Because what if...

What if....

• Today I started exploring all the artsy things that make up my happy place?
• Today I took advantage of this time at home to develop boundaries?
• During this unprecedented time with no commitment to a job I just healed myself?
• I took time to garden?
• I did the self-care of developing and sticking to a home routine. 
• The Punkin and I started sharing responsibilities and taking up our cross without malice? 
• I just allowed myself to tiedye? 
• I started to cook and bake again? 
• I painted and drew and colored and restored those broken places?
• I trusted in my higher power to lead me 
• I would seek out God and whatever gifts that might bring me

The what if's are never-ending. And I can come up with a long column of "what if's" that are scary and negative and down-trodden if I want to. But what if I just focus on the possibilities today?

Isolation = Restoration

Today I am enjoying joint isolation with a friend. I know, that's not quite the deal, right? I'm aware. I pray neither of us gets sick. But I was floundering. And the Punkin was going stir crazy and we sure were not stirring up the best in each other.  And said friend had already ventured out in these uncertain times to encounter less than isolated circumstances to help lay my dad to rest. Because that is what friends do. They do the next right thing, within reason, whenever it is needed. And she offered her home for a refuge. So refuge I will.

Today I am basking in the sunshine on the cozy space of the back deck at chateau de Mark&Elaine's. And I indulged in too many tacos from a small town taco shop and even splurged and had a fountain soda. And I sit here, listening to the sounds of Spring and enjoying the feel of the sun on my bare feet, and I pound away at these keys. Because we all know writing is cathartic. And sometimes it feels pressured. Damn you writer's block! But mostly writing is simply a gift.

When I write (type) I feel connected. With you my dear reader. And of course with myself. The self I am right now. The self of my scarred youth. The self that I don't know yet. My soul. It's a connection with my inner being. So in a way, it is my hour of prayer. When I connect with my own soul, I connect with God and engage in a spiritual interaction. Cuz I was told that prayer is just a conversation. And my soul communicates with God when I write. But once again, I digress....

And my wise friend asked what I needed from her. Not much. I mean, much. But not much. She's opened her home and taken care of my needs. She has offered to entertain me but I am feeling the need to just be. Just be sad. Just be depressed. Just be low-key. Just be doing my part to fight a pandemic and stay in. So she is doing her thing out here on the deck and I am doing mine. And it's quiet, and unencumbered, and peaceful.

Today I rejoice that we can isolate and rejuvenate. It restores my soul.

        

                                                                                                                                                         
                                                                                                     



    

It's the Little Things

My Dad was a man of his faith. And this was a good thing, it really was. But one thing he believed was that we should not color our skin. He was not a fan of my tattoos. But he came to a place of acceptance. And about three weeks before he left us, he and I were holding hands (as we've done so many times in the last months), and his poor hand was all discolored from blood beneath the skin. And he said, "Look, now we match!" It was a small thing. But today as I share this, it brings me a smile. These so called "small things" are so very cherished today.

Dad's funny stories and his big heart and his fierce determination. He was a fighter. And he was an earth lover. He would say that he loved the One who created this all. And that is also true for me. But I know that when I am in nature, when my bare feet can touch the ground, when my face can be kissed by the sun, that is when I am truly grounded. And I know simply from knowing my Dad and being in his presence, that this would be true for him as well. He was not a barefoot guy. But his heart and soul belonged in the great outdoors.

Some stories are not meant to be shared by me. Because even though they mean so much to me, they aren't actually my story to tell. So in due time, when those who own the stories, are in a place to be willing to share them, then I will share them from where I sit.

So in all of this, my dad showed his true colors, his true love, and how to be the love of a lifetime. He showed how much he needed my Mom, how much he loved her, and he was a perfect example of a loving husband. This was not always so. And this is something that goes both ways. I have never before said that I would like a marriage like the one my parents shared. But now, here, in the end, I can say that. I can say, at the end of my life, I want to be so deeply engrossed in the love of another human being that I become calm at the sound of their voice, that I feel safe when they are near, that I ask for them when they are not with me. Someone that I know so well, that I can accept their differences, their quirky faults, those things that are shortcomings and so unique to the person that it would be easy to grow impatient. I can now say, my Dad was an example of what I do want. Is this a small thing? It is no small thing. It is big really. It is a transformation. I am swelled with pride for him (and mom too) that they have come into their marriage at long last (they were 57 years into it).

So my Dad's love for the outdoors and his avid interest in hunting, was in the end, the thing that killed him. On the opening day of rifle season for deer, December 4, my dad was in a serious 4 wheeler accident. He wrecked the 4 wheeler, on his way to the deer blind, and the 4 wheeler landed on his left side. He lay in the road for a time. It's not actually known how long he lay there. But when the ambulance came, they realized that all his ribs were broken on that left side, as well as his collarbone on the left side and a punctured lung and a brain bleed. The paramedics didn't even believe he would live to the ER, let alone survive his transfer to the trauma unit at the hospital in Wichita. One of the times I visited Dad in the ICU after this wreck, he said to me, "I know Mom thinks I'm going to sell my 4 wheeler, but I don't think so!" This brought some laughter to the situation. This is one of those "little things" that isn't actually a little thing, because it totally describes my Dad.

Today I have so many "little things" that I cling to.

Today's Slice of Life

Today the sun finally came out again. The sun was gone both literally and metaphorically. Overcast, dreary, wet, cold. But after the sky cried tears this morning for the loss of my father, the clouds broke, the sun shone through, and the wind blew the clouds out of the Kansas sky. It was so refreshing. But then the swell of emotion and the roller coaster that is my life started up again. Ping! My girl is not okay. Ping! The dogs need me. Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Now the storm of emotion is out of control again. The pounding of stressors on my conscience is loud, constant, over-whelming. I am begging for my turn. My turn to grieve, my turn to cry, my turn to withdraw into myself and just be. Just be sad. Just be tired. Just be. I'm begging, if there's a god in heaven, please grant me some peace and some sort of reprieve. The pain is too much. Too much. Today, the day we stop counting down to Spring, we placed my father in the ground. Laid him to rest. What a horrible thing. It sounds hollow. It sounds shallow. It doesn't give me comfort. I am heartbroken. I am tired. I am wrapped in grief. Today was some kind of passage and opportunity to move on, but it is also just the beginning of a long journey through my grief. I know there is an abundance of new life, new creations, rest of my life adventures waiting out there. But I also know that my life will never be the same.

Murderer

My dad is being killed from the inside. There's a nasty monster growing inside his brain. It's not cancer. That is supposed to be good. Right? But we had to do an invasive surgery to even find out what was the culprit and what possible options might be. Brain surgery is a bitch. It just is. Dad had a brain bleed which essentially took him from us. He deteriorated quickly. But this sneaky, dastardly, underhanded beast kept on growing, taking, stealing more and more of my Dad on top of the damage from the brain bleed. The name of the beast is: Nocardia cyriacigeorgica. A slow-growing bacteria and a slow-responding bacteria. We didn't even have the correct name of the beast until last week. So the abscesses on my Dad's brain continued to feed on him and grow while his brain bleed was not healing. And we are left in utter devastation. To say we feel helpless is such an understatement it's not even funny. We just have to stand by while he cries out for help and no help is available. Hurt and helpless and not able to meet his needs. I am shaking my fist at this unseen evil. This murderer.

Coming to Terms.... other wise known as acceptance

Today is a new kind of normal for me. Today I am still a teacher, I am just not a teacher of my class. My littles now belong to a new teacher. Yes, it's hard to fathom. And my heart is broken. I got what I asked for, but it is a painful wrenching of my soul anyway. I'm heartbroken. Sad. Misplaced. There's a bitter taste in my mouth. And a sour feeling in my stomach.

But I am also free. Tonight I am not writing lesson plans, nor struggling with the guilt of not being prepared for the new week or with not being with my school children.  This evening I am free to be my Dad's companion, champion, caregiver, overseer, and fierce protector. Which makes me so sad and tired just to know that he needs protected. But I've seen it over and over in these days since he's been incarcerated, um..., I mean incapacitated/hospitalized/bed-bound.

So here I sit, protector of the sleeping. Listening to his snores. Choosing to believe he has peace tonight. Choosing to believe that he is not in pain tonight. And not really needing to be in protector mode. And that's okay. Because I have to believe that the times he needs protection are fewer than those when he is well-cared for and has his needs met and dignity respected. I need these times when every little need is met. It buffers my soul for the times he cries in pain, the times he treated like his feelings/pain don't matter, his needs are only wishes. I just love him so. And he has loved me for so long and shaped my world view and given me everything a girl could want from her dad. Well, maybe not everything. He's not perfect. But he has always loved me. That is enough today.

I feel a new day dawning. There is a small shimmer of hope in the rising sun.

Oh. And for the record. I think this just might be the beginning of acceptance. Acceptance that although there are many things I don't like in this current situation, this is the situation. And given what I'm facing, needing time to be present, it is probably a good solution.

The acceptance of my Dad's condition, uncertainty, and lack of immortality (okay, yes, he's mortal), that is still a road that I often veer off of. I come to terms, then I barter with God again, then I start to believe he's going to rally. Then I accept the fact that it is simply unknown. He may rally. He may not. I do not know. Accepting this uncertainty is a moment by moment venture. And there are times I have it covered, and times when I do not. But hope is still rising like the morning sun. There is still a large dose of melancholy interspersed, but the hope is growing.