Been A Rough Week

I don’t suffer from depression.

At least, not on a regular basis.

And, there’s always a catalyst for my blue episodes. I don’t just wake up one morning and have no desire for…anything.

This week has been difficult, and the difficult is getting more difficult.

A year ago, tomorrow, my daddy died.

He didn’t die pretty, he didn’t die peaceful.

It was a death that followed two solid weeks of pain and sickness.

Of 104 fevers, of organ failure, fluid build-up, pain so intense that they couldn’t give him enough morphine to completely block it, and finally he drowned in his own fluids as he lay in a completely clean and dry hospital bed.

And I watched, helpless.

It was an emotionally agonizing time for me, and I really thought I was better…then the past week happened, and it’s as if the year before the past week never happened.

I’m right back there, holding Daddy’s hand and whispering to him that he could let go, that we’d be fine and that his father, mother, sister, and brothers waited for him on the other side.

I wasn’t there when he took his last breath, and for that I’m grateful.  I had borne enough pain and I couldn’t watch any more.

In fact, I think Daddy waited until he was alone to finally go home.   The chaplain called me at 2:00 AM, and my first words upon hearing the news were “Thank God, he’s free at last.”

I don’t know how many more anniversaries will be hard on me, but I think this one is the hardest.

I’m taking a few days off, and letting go.

Y’all mind the store while I’m gone, okay?  Thanks.

Posted on June 18, 2013, in In All Seriousness and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. Firsts are always the hardest. I still get sad on every holiday, birthday, anniversary.. it’s hard no matter what. Hang in there.

  2. Big hugs CJ. Take care of yourself. We’ll be right here.

  3. Meg is 100% correct. The first is the hardest, and more power to you for recognizing it and moving through it at your own pace. Sending hugs and understanding your way.

    Allow me to inject one note of humor that might make you laugh through your tears. It has gone down in family history as a classic.

    It happened on the occasion of the one-year anniversary of my mom’s passing. I knew the day was approaching and, as per usual, was planning on handling (read controlling) it as a matter of course. Husband had to work and daughters were going to a Giants game. I was going to be alone during the day, which was fine by me (I said) and would fix one of my mom’s favorite meals for when everyone converged for the evening meal at the end of the day. I kept myself busy during the day and went grocery shopping early afternoon for the clam chowder dinner I had planned. The store was out of clams. “Oh well,” I says to myself, “this is not a crisis. I will fix something else for dinner.”

    I got home just as the mother of husband’s daughters showed up for a visit. She (we are friendly) and the girls had planned on going out after dinner. We get out of our respective vehicles in the driveway and, by way of greeting her, I say, “It’s been a year since Mom died” and burst into tears. So much for controlling the day.

    Bless her, she responds, “Honey, you need a drink.” I start to blubber and launch into an almost unintelligible dialogue about it being a year since I lost my mother, and I wanted to make clam chowder and the store was out of clams.

    Three Manhattans later, girls get home from the game all excited. Ex-wife and I are sitting on the couch in the garage. They take one look at me and ask what’s wrong. I drunkenly cry, “They were out of f*cking clams!” This, from their normally easy-going, sweet-tempered, non-cussing, never drunk step-mother. They backed away slowly, in astonishment, and quietly went into the house, saying “That’s okay, we’ll make spaghetti.”

    Moral of the day: Acknowledge your grief/anger/depression in whatever way and however long is best for YOU. Trying to control it does not work and can result in crying over f*cking clams.



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