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Wednesday, April 25, 2018

The Ebbs and Flows of Grief


[Disclaimer: Originally written more than a few weeks ago, and then updated before posting today]


Today is exactly 7 months since my Dad left.

Yesterday, catching the the end of a movie I had seen many times, made me cry. Annie. It has nothing to do with my Dad, and everything to do with my Dad. My Dad basically hated musicals, I think he handled Grease because my first love was in it, Olivia Newton-John. Watching the end of Annie, I started to cry because she got to go back to her Daddy. I don’t have that luxury, as least not yet.

This morning, flipping channels again, I ran past Rocky Two and am currently watching Rocky Three. Instead of being upset (at least at this moment), I’m comforted because I could picture us watching these together, him in the recliner chair, and me on the couch, as I played with the phone, and him yelling at me that I had to “catch up on my gossip!” ... this was our life, up to the time the real struggles began. I took it for granted. Who wouldn’t?

Now, as my Mom and I grieve together...
After the guilt I put myself through about taking tomorrow for granted when it came to my Dad, I absolutely refuse to make those same mistakes when it comes to my Mother.
We consciously make new memories that I hold close. 
 
We went to an old west casino night recently and dressed up.
Probably the first and only time I will ever be able to pull off "Cowboy"

We have gone to see musicals like “A Chorus Line” or spent a fun day at the Aquarium. 
We are Elite (Gold) with AMC because of how often we go to the movies. 
Normal, everyday type stuff like how we (she) make some things for dinner that both of us like but my Dad didn’t like. 

We have seen the Boston Pops, and next month we will see "The Diary of Anne Frank" performed live as well as the Phoenix Symphony performing John Williams' soundtracks. We both hope they play the Superman theme for us.

Or even the fact that we sit down at the table and eat a meal together - something that suffered last year as my Dad suffered, and that I really, really missed.

Sometimes, you just can't help it.
You try to find the new normal. You hate it.

There's times I have complete acceptance of what is, is...whatever will be, will be.
And there are times when you still fight the change and all you want is what used to be.

The grief can hit you at the most random times with a random trigger.
On the way to meet some friends for dinner recently, the Meatloaf song "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" came on. The more I tried to contain myself, the more my grief was determined to make its way out.  The tears came streaming down my face as I listened to the lyrics:

But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you
Now don't be sad
'Cause two out of three ain't bad


My brain was trying to play some tricks on me and what I kept hearing:
 But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna leave you
Now don't be sad
'Cause two out of three ain't bad

(and the two out of the three were my Mom and myself)


Just as Annie made me cry a few weeks ago, a Meatloaf song made me cry, listening to the lyrics.

In some ways, it is unfathomable to me that it has been 7 months exactly since I have seen my Dad, hugged him, been able to tell him I love him, or hear in his voice that he loves me. Even though I know this in my heart.

My Mother and I are in what is probably going to be, one of the most difficult periods we are going through since the death and funeral. Next Friday, May 4th, we honor my Dad for the first time as an "In Memory Of" Cancer Survivor instead of "In Honor Of" at the Chandler Relay for Life. Unfortunately, at times, I am not really looking forward to it this year.
It is a huge slap in the face making me acknowledge the missing piece of my life.

Every time we have Relayed, it has been with my Dad.
His missing physical presence will be intimately and acutely felt by all of us.

The Sunday after, we will again honor him by following the guidelines of Judaism, while many of our family and friends are here, and unveil his headstone. Because I felt like such a mess and in a fog, in the time of the death, funeral, and aftermath, I hope to truly make my Dad proud by designing and conducting the entire Unveiling service myself.

Welcome once again, to the ebbs and flows of my grief.