Minute by Minute, Hour By Hour, Day By Day

One piece of advice I have routinely heard since my Dad died last September:
"Take it Day By Day."

Actually, I heard it before then. Many have told me it to me in efforts to help assist me in managing my stress. Probably, even my Father.

Although I understood the words, I think its only recently that I truly began to understand their meaning. 

You can feel fine and upbeat in the morning, and your sadness/depression/loss can build throughout the day, week, or weekend. Then what?

You take it day by day, or at the beginning - you have to take it hour by hour, and sometimes even minute by minute.

I called the day after my Dad died, and I have seen a therapist since then regularly.

I searched for, and found, a Grief Support Group where my Mom and we can discuss how our grief impacts us how the loss of our loved one impacts our lives. 

I found an online support group that supplements the in person one, and is equally as helpful.

They are a place for us to be around others who understand and get it, without having to explain a thing.

I have freely provided encouragement and support to friends who have lost a parent after I lost one of mine, just as some did for me. I will never forget that, because of how much it helped. I I hate that others have to go thru this same living hell that I do. I vowed to help others as I was helped.

My friends and I call it the club, and although none of us want to be in it, we are all there to help support each other through our grief. 

All you can do is take it by day.
Just like before my Dad died, and when he was struggling:
"Cherish the good days and make it through the bad ones"

When my Mom is having a bad day which can sometimes impact me having a good day, because I am an Empath and I can pick up on her emotions. I feel bad that she isn't feeling her best - take it day by day, or hour by hour.

As I said earlier, I don't think I really understood what that meant until very recently.
Everything is temporary, I read once.
But it didn't really sink it until just now.

I was sitting on the couch, missing my Dad.
But Everything is temporary - my grief and the extreme loss I feel may be permanent, but memories do not always make me so sad.

I have progressed from where I was 6 months ago, where I have been able at times to listen to my Dad's voice and watch videos of him; something I was not able to do for many months because it devastated me emotionally.

Very recently, I ran across something on Facebook I have searched for from the very beginning of my grief journey:  an online grief support to supplement the other ways I seek assistance and help. The group has been a wonderful addition to my support system, and is everything I had been looking for.  Yesterday, as I struggled with my grief, I saw this post:

I am bouncing forward everyday!
I still have moments, but I continue to press on and bounce fearlessly forward with each day.

This morning I [details removed] made a mental note of that precious memory. These moments don’t take me spiraling down the rabbit hole anymore. They are sweet moments of remembering and honoring those memories. I put on my workout clothes and got ready for a dose of self-care.

Our lives did not end on that awful day. They just started over. Keep bouncing forward! Your story is still being written.

This is something I agree with, and try to do, but I was in awe of this author and their comments. My jaw dropped on the floor when they further noted that they were only 6 months out from grief! Almost timewise where I am at.

It was this post that dropped the "Day by Day" idea in my head.

At work earlier this week, I saw this occur almost in front of my eyes. There was a few minutes where I was overwhelmed with something, and I felt my grief literally rise up through my head, like a rising level of flooding water of emotion. And just that quickly, within a few minutes, the water level had receded to an acceptable and manageable level. I have learned not only what my triggers are (stress at work is a big one) but also how to recognize when the storm or tidal wave (which is how I think of grief) is approaching. Not sure how to explain it really, but I can sense something oncoming, even if I can't put my finger on it at the time.

I feel like I am entering a new phase - one where the grief is not all the time, everyday, but rises and drops - minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day - more than I have noticed it before. I can still manage to have a good day with an emotional hour or breakdown during the day.

It is ALL you can do. Take things day by day.
It is futile to stress over things you can't do anything about or control - 
even though I have a very rough time with that.

So, take it day by day, and enjoy each day as it comes - the good and bad.
It is exactly how my Dad chose to live.

What Do You Miss Most?

Recently, my cousin pointed out that of the 9 cousins (4 families), only my cousin and his siblings have an intact parent unit: Mom and Dad. The rest of us, have all lost out our Dads. It was a sobering, yet unrecognized fact, I hadn't paid attention to.

Must have been a pensive day. At the Grief Support Group we attend, the focus question was "What do you miss the most about your Dad?"

Clearly, It is impossible to pick one thing when you love and miss someone so much.

The first thought that popped into my head was "he didn't take my shit, and he dished that shit right back to me."  This was the epitome of our relationship - We were Father and Son, by birth;  but by life we became near Brothers, and definite Best Friends.  

We teased, tormented, and taunted each other. We EACH knew how to push each other's buttons, say that one thing that would instantly set the other person off, and we kept doing it even after we knew how much it irritated the other person.

I would call him Al and ask him what was the name on his birth certificate. 
Just to be the little shit that I was and that he called me affectionately.

The taunting started early. I remember listening to the Grease Soundtrack in 1979, when I had this enormous (to this day) crush on Olivia Newton-John. He would torment me by referring to my first girlfriend, Olivia, as Olivia Fig Newton. It would irritate me to no end and I would constantly correct him in as exasperated tone as a 6 year old could do.

Both of us were equally as guilty because there were always water fights, Ice Attacks as you were showering, there was even a baby powder surprise attack one night, when I'm surprised neither of us was killed by my mother after that one. We were lucky.

Driving was a whole other story.
I loved to scream as he backed up the car to make him panic and scream back, as he slammed on the breaks, yelled back at me, called me "you sonnnnnnnofabitch"

No matter what he screwed up on while driving, we never let him live it down or forget it.
He missed a turn once, my Mom and I got excited (you could say we freaked out), and his retort was the classic and infamous "SO I MISSED THE FUCKING TURN, ITS NOT THE END OF THE FUCKING WORLD!!" -- This from the Man who refused to curse in front of his impressionanable young son, who would correct "oh shit" to "oh sugar" when I was really young - which made me dissolve into giggles and made me really laugh the rare times when an "oh shit" really did slip out. It was so infrequent, that he once called and left a voicemail on my phone which ended with an "oh shit" that I have still kept it some 20 years later because I found it so hilarious.

My Dad was the typical Alpha Male, who, even if he had never driven some place before, automatically knew how to get there without asking for directions, even after he got lost and turned around. We were driving in New Mexico somewhere once, and after checking the map, he decided he had found a shortcut back to the highway. 40 minutes later, we were at a dead end and had to turn around and trace our steps back to the original route.  That was the trip where Dad's shortcuts became known as "shortcuts that don't exist to highways that don't instersect" 

Even after he and Mom moved and retired to Arizona, driving one Saturday morning or afternoon, we found ourselves in another of Dad's infamous shortcuts. Before I could even open my mouth, this "roar" of "NOT A WORD. NOT ONE WORD, JEFF" came out of the front seat. I knew better than to press my luck at this time (one of the few), but a few minutes later after he calmed down, I made a very pointed remark to Mom about how sometimes you have to let them make their own mistakes or they will never learn. I'm suprised I lived after that one too, but by that time we all were laughing.

These are just a few of the incidents that made my childhood as awesome as it was - by having a Dad who was as much of prankster as I was.  

After I moved to Arizona, My Dad (and my Mom as well) was always the first one to say no matter what time I flew in or left - they were more than happy to take me, even if we had to get up at 4a to get me to the airport for a 7a flight; or picking me up in Philly or JFK instead of EWR. It never mattered to them; it only mattered that their little boy was coming home. Everytime I did, they had waiting in the car, either White Castles, fries and a coke, or my favorite sandwich - turkey bologna on an onion bagel. I miss that.

After I had moved to Arizona, and before my parents had retired, I made a quick trip back to NJ, getting in late - probably around 10p or 11p, ,and because I was catching the first flight back in the morning - 7a, I slept on the couch with the lights on. By this time, I had been used to living and sleeping alone in my apartment.  I fell into a deep sleep, and my Dad came into the living room to wake me. He tried to gently wake me by whispering my name, and gently rubbing my arm. Unfortunately, it had the reverse effect. I was in such a deep sleep stupor, He scared the shit out of me. He said I rose up like a King Cobra and groaned and started to coil back like I was going to attack him. He said I terrified him. I told him he had some nerve scaring me like that. From that night on, he called me King Cobra.

It was what I thought was a one time incident, until one day recently at work, someone came up quietly behind me and scared the daylights out of me, and I turned around and gave them what I came to realize was the King Cobra look! They told me they got scared and thought I was going to punch them out! 

For as much as teased and taunted each other, we never wanted to see each other hurt. When I hurt, he hurt. and When he hurt, I hurt. 

This was never more evident one night in my apartment...2am....there was a loud crash.
We were both passed out asleep in our respective bedrooms. He heard the crash first and started yelling my name:  "JEFF, ARE YOU OK? JEFF??"

I heard him yelling, in my sleep, and I woke up..in my sleep stupor, my brain played a trick on me, and I thought he was calling me because he had fallen down. I flew out of the bed, so fast the blanket never had a chance to fall down and remained around me like a robe. As I turned to tear down the hallway and rescue my Father, the blanket caught on my all glass corner unit and the glass shelves went flying. Just as I was about to run down the hall to rescue him, he was at that same point in the hallway coming out of his room, and we both ran into each other headfirst and then held each other up for dear life. 
Words do not even do this story justice, but it shows how deep of a connection we had in life. The last thing each of us wanted was for the other to feel any kind of pain. I miss that.

As an adult and as I fine tuned and embraced my sarcasm, my Dad took my sarcasm and would fling it right back in my face. One of his favorite things was when he would say something random, I would take it and run with it, and he would shake his head ever so slightly, sigh, and say "why G-d? Why Me? Why do I always give him the g-ddamn rope"

I miss having my Dad here to bounce my ideas off of, to call when I am overwhelmed at work, to ask when I don't know the answer to something. When I didn't know how to do something on my taxes - I asked my Dad. When I didn't know how to confront someone or bring it up when it was a difficult topic - I asked my Dad. I never seemed to phase him with what I asked. At work years ago, I was nicknamed "Answer Man" but that's who my Dad was to me. I miss him.

I miss the person who would get as much joy out of the Ostrich Festival (Chandler's answer to the state fair) as I did, who enjoyed blowing the calories on turkey legs, swirly potato chip things, corn dogs and cookies as much as I do. Today, Mom and I will establish new memories of the Ostrich Festival, but his lack of physical presence is definitely felt.

I miss having someone who knew how to check the air in the tires (thank you Discount Tire) and having someone who knew how to calm me down when there was car drama.

I miss taking him to the doctors, and the bonding we shared because many of his appointments where I drove him were early mornings, so that was our "Dad and Jeff" time. Grief is so funny because a song that reminds me of him can bring me great comfort one day, and the same song can bring me great sadness the next.

I miss spending the time with him at Chemo, those 5 years of 2-3 hours for a week once a month, that we wouldn't have otherwise had. Time that, especially in hindsight, was an enormous gift of time. I appreciated it then, but I cherish it even more now.