Here goes nothing:
Heading into 2014, I was filled with so much despair & sadness.....I felt the insurmountable weight of loss in every part of my being. I didn't want to enter a new year when it would begin moving us further and further away from the time dad was alive. As each month passed, I wondered how I'd ever recover from the raw ache that had occupied my heart. I bowed out of parties, social events, evenings with friends because I didn't want to pretend that life was normal. Inside of me, the earth had stopped spinning. Everywhere I looked, something brought me to tears. I cried years and years worth of tears and yet still, they kept coming, no end in sight.
I was angry. SO SO angry. I took it out on everyone closest to me. I pushed away one of my closest friends because I didn't know enough to channel, handle, take responsibility for this anger in me. Everyone said, "it's normal, it's a 'stage of grief', it's ok to feel angry". Feeling angry and taking it out on people you love are two different sides of the coin. The anger I felt was not normal, not ok and not letting up despite my hours of discussing it. It was scaring my mother, pissing off my sister and everyone else around me. I wanted to be alone all of the time - it kept me remembering, grieving, living it, feeling it and not entering the guilt of "moving on" without him.
At 9:52 am on December 7th of last year, I got a phone call that knocked the wind out of me. After ignoring my brothers call twice, I knew something was wrong when he tried a third time. "Where are you?", he asked sternly.... "I'm home, what's wrong!?!?!"..... Pause...... "Dad died". I'll never forget the sound of his voice and never ever forget how I couldn't breathe. How I screamed until my throat burned. Why? Why him, why now, why?
The drive down to Philly that day, the sounds of weeping, the gifts and flowers arriving at the door, the photos, the people, the memories being shared, it was all overwhelming. The way my voicemail filled up and concerning texts and calls continued to come. What could I say? He's gone. Nothing was as overwhelming as the empty kitchen, the empty chair, the empty room. I remember going out to the back of my step mothers car and being frozen by the sight of a hospital bag, the kind of white plastic bag with strings to tighten it. They give you that bag for your clothes and belongings when they hand you one of those hospital gowns. You don't normally bring that bag home because you change back into your clothes when your ct scan is finished. His keys, his wallet, his sunglasses, his phone. Things he would never need again.
The funeral home. The way the director spoke over my head and only to my step mother. Um, hello? I am his daughter, his 'baby', his firstborn, his NANCY. I've known him for 40 years - why would you choose to speak to her over me? I know him better, I've known him longer. I'm his blood, shouldn't I be his his "next of kin"? She is going to desert all of us when this is all over - talk to MEEEEE, please. Acknowledge me as something. I will give his eulogy, I will decide how his ashes are separated, I will be the one. The internal battle began then. Was I right from day 1? Will she cut us off like she did her own family? I watched it all happen. I stayed in touch, I hugged her, loved her and prayed that she would still be a part of our lives, she held the last 14 years of him in her and she was that link for us. But still, something kicked inside of me. The need to protect my father, his memory, his family, his mother. My step mother who was with him when he took his last breath, who held the mystery of it all in her head, who seemed eerily strong, detached. Who 2 months later that she was selling the house and that our grandmother was now our job.... Who told me 9 months after his death, I need to go away, to finally give myself a chance to grieve. How was that even possible? How can you put it off? The first text that she didn't answer was on the one year anniversary of his death. I knew then, for sure, she was gone. Am I angry? Not anymore. I have gotten over it. My children though? They still ask why Mammy isn't in our lives anymore, it hurts me. They don't deserve this. They will be ok though, kids are resilient. Right?
Two new precious babies were born in May and I dedicated my energy to knowing them and loving on them. They are gifts from God. They are treasures and new beginnings and breaths of fresh air. They are beautiful and my father would eat them UP, one bite at a time.I'm certain that he held them both before we did - I'm certain that he sat with my niece in the NICU for hours in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping. I know it, I am certain.
Without realizing it, we got through our firsts.... our first holidays, first "big" events, & first birthdays without him. The twins, Natalie's 37th, my 41st, Dad's 67th & Steve's 40th, . We kept a 3-way text chat going through the course of these events, the year, the photos and memories. They sustained us. Natalie, Stephen and I sat with Gram in her new apartment on the morning of the first anniversary of his death, not really saying much... just being there, together. What was there to say that we hadn't already said a million times before? It was a good weekend and I felt strong..... almost healed, for the first time in a year.
If it were not for the unconditional love of my mother, the strength and smarts of my brother, the forgiveness and love of my sister and the constant reminders of his presence, I would not be sitting here feeling like an enormously unnatural weight has been lifted. Knowing that the reckless anger and pain is behind me and I can finally breathe again.
We just made it through our 2nd Christmas and it was better than "ok", better than "not bad", better than "pretty good". We hung his memory on our two trees, we gave and received gifts in honor of him and we laughed and cried over tales of the past. I miss him, especially today when I need to find out why one of my radiators is cold. I miss calling him and making him laugh with an inappropriate joke or sitting with him in his living room and hearing him tell me what he found on "the google". I miss hearing "Lukemeister" and "who wants eggs and 'basi" and "bring me a greenie". I miss the way he told me how to do everything {the right way} and how he had once said "you can't be an asshole your whole life, Nancy". We probably could have worked through that one together and now it's too late. I am going to have to figure out how to do that one without him. I miss hearing his hysterical laughter over getting my kids to do insanely stupid things and how he broke the rules when it came to them. We'll always have "Oi-HO", "nyak nyak nyak" and "me and my nubs" and "i knew a guy who had those shoes......."
Here's to you dad, Happy New Year to me and thank you for getting me through this last one.
Love you with my very full heart
....one of your biggest fans.... xo
Heading into 2014, I was filled with so much despair & sadness.....I felt the insurmountable weight of loss in every part of my being. I didn't want to enter a new year when it would begin moving us further and further away from the time dad was alive. As each month passed, I wondered how I'd ever recover from the raw ache that had occupied my heart. I bowed out of parties, social events, evenings with friends because I didn't want to pretend that life was normal. Inside of me, the earth had stopped spinning. Everywhere I looked, something brought me to tears. I cried years and years worth of tears and yet still, they kept coming, no end in sight.
I was angry. SO SO angry. I took it out on everyone closest to me. I pushed away one of my closest friends because I didn't know enough to channel, handle, take responsibility for this anger in me. Everyone said, "it's normal, it's a 'stage of grief', it's ok to feel angry". Feeling angry and taking it out on people you love are two different sides of the coin. The anger I felt was not normal, not ok and not letting up despite my hours of discussing it. It was scaring my mother, pissing off my sister and everyone else around me. I wanted to be alone all of the time - it kept me remembering, grieving, living it, feeling it and not entering the guilt of "moving on" without him.
At 9:52 am on December 7th of last year, I got a phone call that knocked the wind out of me. After ignoring my brothers call twice, I knew something was wrong when he tried a third time. "Where are you?", he asked sternly.... "I'm home, what's wrong!?!?!"..... Pause...... "Dad died". I'll never forget the sound of his voice and never ever forget how I couldn't breathe. How I screamed until my throat burned. Why? Why him, why now, why?
The drive down to Philly that day, the sounds of weeping, the gifts and flowers arriving at the door, the photos, the people, the memories being shared, it was all overwhelming. The way my voicemail filled up and concerning texts and calls continued to come. What could I say? He's gone. Nothing was as overwhelming as the empty kitchen, the empty chair, the empty room. I remember going out to the back of my step mothers car and being frozen by the sight of a hospital bag, the kind of white plastic bag with strings to tighten it. They give you that bag for your clothes and belongings when they hand you one of those hospital gowns. You don't normally bring that bag home because you change back into your clothes when your ct scan is finished. His keys, his wallet, his sunglasses, his phone. Things he would never need again.
The funeral home. The way the director spoke over my head and only to my step mother. Um, hello? I am his daughter, his 'baby', his firstborn, his NANCY. I've known him for 40 years - why would you choose to speak to her over me? I know him better, I've known him longer. I'm his blood, shouldn't I be his his "next of kin"? She is going to desert all of us when this is all over - talk to MEEEEE, please. Acknowledge me as something. I will give his eulogy, I will decide how his ashes are separated, I will be the one. The internal battle began then. Was I right from day 1? Will she cut us off like she did her own family? I watched it all happen. I stayed in touch, I hugged her, loved her and prayed that she would still be a part of our lives, she held the last 14 years of him in her and she was that link for us. But still, something kicked inside of me. The need to protect my father, his memory, his family, his mother. My step mother who was with him when he took his last breath, who held the mystery of it all in her head, who seemed eerily strong, detached. Who 2 months later that she was selling the house and that our grandmother was now our job.... Who told me 9 months after his death, I need to go away, to finally give myself a chance to grieve. How was that even possible? How can you put it off? The first text that she didn't answer was on the one year anniversary of his death. I knew then, for sure, she was gone. Am I angry? Not anymore. I have gotten over it. My children though? They still ask why Mammy isn't in our lives anymore, it hurts me. They don't deserve this. They will be ok though, kids are resilient. Right?
Two new precious babies were born in May and I dedicated my energy to knowing them and loving on them. They are gifts from God. They are treasures and new beginnings and breaths of fresh air. They are beautiful and my father would eat them UP, one bite at a time.I'm certain that he held them both before we did - I'm certain that he sat with my niece in the NICU for hours in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping. I know it, I am certain.
Without realizing it, we got through our firsts.... our first holidays, first "big" events, & first birthdays without him. The twins, Natalie's 37th, my 41st, Dad's 67th & Steve's 40th, . We kept a 3-way text chat going through the course of these events, the year, the photos and memories. They sustained us. Natalie, Stephen and I sat with Gram in her new apartment on the morning of the first anniversary of his death, not really saying much... just being there, together. What was there to say that we hadn't already said a million times before? It was a good weekend and I felt strong..... almost healed, for the first time in a year.
If it were not for the unconditional love of my mother, the strength and smarts of my brother, the forgiveness and love of my sister and the constant reminders of his presence, I would not be sitting here feeling like an enormously unnatural weight has been lifted. Knowing that the reckless anger and pain is behind me and I can finally breathe again.
We just made it through our 2nd Christmas and it was better than "ok", better than "not bad", better than "pretty good". We hung his memory on our two trees, we gave and received gifts in honor of him and we laughed and cried over tales of the past. I miss him, especially today when I need to find out why one of my radiators is cold. I miss calling him and making him laugh with an inappropriate joke or sitting with him in his living room and hearing him tell me what he found on "the google". I miss hearing "Lukemeister" and "who wants eggs and 'basi" and "bring me a greenie". I miss the way he told me how to do everything {the right way} and how he had once said "you can't be an asshole your whole life, Nancy". We probably could have worked through that one together and now it's too late. I am going to have to figure out how to do that one without him. I miss hearing his hysterical laughter over getting my kids to do insanely stupid things and how he broke the rules when it came to them. We'll always have "Oi-HO", "nyak nyak nyak" and "me and my nubs" and "i knew a guy who had those shoes......."
Here's to you dad, Happy New Year to me and thank you for getting me through this last one.
Love you with my very full heart
....one of your biggest fans.... xo
