The Sun Keeps Rising

Grief is a strange process. Especially when you avoid it at any cost. I make posts on social media and occasionally I may verbally say “I miss my daddy,” but any expression that requires depth, I avoid. It’s a defense mechanism I guess. I have to keep going, keep living. I don’t want to be the sad girl. It’s approaching two years and I don’t want pity. I don’t want judgement. However, I have not properly dealt with my grief. I sit in my regular therapy sessions and I discuss my mother or romantic relationships, and even my relationships with friends. Rarely do I talk about my daddy or my grief. I don’t talk about him. Not really. I don’t explore my hurt. I don’t explore his absence.

A few months ago, I went through a bout of depression. I had the desire only to lie in my bed and binge watch Blue Bloods. Blue Bloods is a show that my daddy called “our show” because of the father/daughter relationship between two of the main characters. One day I realized that I was watching this show because I missed my daddy. It was my subconscious way of dealing with my grief. After years of sacrifice and consecutive tragic life events, I moved into my first apartment in Houston. It was joyful and stressful. Particularly because my car required a series of expensive repairs around the time of my move. Even though I always have consulted my mom and not my dad about my car troubles, I found myself feeling and saying “I miss my daddy.” The day I picked up the keys to my apartment, my mom was on the phone with someone sharing my news (as she often does because she suffers from verbal diarrhea) and I said to her, out of my mouth, “Who is that, daddy?” I immediately bursted into tears in the leasing office. A couple days later I was driving back to Houston from Dallas and my car wheel was giving me some trouble and I said to my cousin after I couldn’t gain assistance from my mom and others, “I’ll just call my daddy.” Even though something similar happened days before, I still shocked myself.

I’m so happy to start this new chapter, yet there is a damper. There is something missing…my daddy. (I just realized as I typed that sentence and my eyes swelled with tears that THIS is why I have been so moody) I have been depressed, needy, lonely, moody, and simply unpleasant. And I have been in my bed in my new apartment, alone, binge watching Mad Men. The main character and his life reminds me of my daddy. Watching the shows that have connections to my daddy have been unintentional but makes sense. Subconsciously, I’m looking for ways to be close to him, to fill the void that is impossible to fill. My daddy would be so happy for me and taking this step, living my life for me. Even with that being true, I can’t be happy. I can’t help but wonder if every life event that is to come will be challenged but this dark gloom of my father’s absence. I’d like to believe that when I stop avoiding and actually deal with my grief, I will handle life events in a more healthy manner. For now, I am up at 3 am watching Mad Men, feeling every bit of my daddy’s absence and it hurts like hell.

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Timehop

So I check Timehop and Facebook Memories daily. It often provides me with little jewels of my daddy. Today’s timehop was a sad but real moment for me. My dad lived over a year past the video I will be sharing today. Moving forward, time to time I will be sharing some memories provided by Timehop and Facebook.

Numb.

I use to be a very emotional person. I expressed everything I felt. I cried a lot. I mingled with my feelings. As life’s experiences grew more complex, my relationship with my emotions grew more distant. I cant say that I don’t feel, but my way of coping is to keep it moving and not deal with the issues. I know, it doesn’t sound healthy. I can’t say that it is healthy. I am able to cry, just not in response to my personal feelings. I can cry for my loved ones struggle. I can cry at Grey’s Anatomy. (and other emotional entertainment, but MOSTLY Grey’s lol) but I cannot cry from my own hurt, disappointment, or frustration.

I explored this revelation when my mother came in my room an emotional mess (which is more common than not with her) about my grandmother’s mental condition. My grandmother is 89 years old and up to this point has been as sharp as a tack with a very sassy and direct personality. Recently, she has been having hallucinations. It has become difficult for her to decipher what is reality and imaginary. It breaks my mother’s heart, mine too. I just can’t express it. I also cannot help my mom work through her emotions (probably because I haven’t worked out mine). I am grateful for the 87+ good years my grandmother has had. To be celebrating her 90th birthday this year is a blessing. My mom sometimes sees other elderly people who can get around well and gets sad saying she wish that my grandmother could do so as well. I have to remind her that my grandmother lived on her own for years and that she is old. (cruel but honest). I often come off cold to her because I cannot effectively relieve her emotional storms. She doesn’t understand that I cannot relieve my own emotional storms.

When I was a little girl I never understood how someone could cut themselves. I didn’t understand the point. It is not something, even to this day I am capable of doing but I sometimes pinch myself to be able to feel. I think I maybe afraid to feel, afraid to love, afraid to be vulnerable. To allow myself to do any of those things, I will have to deal with the stuff I have kept bottled up for the past few years. I can’t work through my dad’s diagnosis, my Uncle Larry’s death (which is still unreal to me), and the other painful events that have transpired in my life. My way of analyzing: I do not have the time to spare for a breakdown and if I do break, who would help put me back together again. I isolate myself (others isolate me as well). I don’t care to talk about how I feel and why I feel that way, I just keep moving and hope that things will get better with time. “You are so strong”….I have no other choice, so I numb myself.

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Mortal Woman.

Isolated. Secluded. No one to whom I may share my thoughts. No one to whom I may share my pain. No one. Just me. Carrying the pressure placed on me by those who I love. Not intentionally. But because I am the one with the strength. What is strength? I believe it is powered by faith and favor. God has given me an unexplainable amount of strength every since I was a young girl. This strength has carried me through each phase of my life. This strength has prepared me to face what life presents me. This strength allows me to look at my ill father in the face, a face that grows less and less familiar by the day, and not shed a tear. He has been doing well and then in a moment’s time, he is not well. Mentally, he is struggling. I see it, he knows it, but it is not something that he cares to admit. His mental health has a direct impact on his physical health. My solution: Keep him healthy mentally. Maybe the biggest challenge of them all. He is so authoritative, arrogant, and stubborn. I want to protect him, from himself, but I am only human. I am only a woman. There is only so much that my small frame and exhausted mind can bear. I thank God for the positive moments that we share. I thank God for the moments of peace because they allow me to regain the strength that is necessary in low moments similar to the current state. The strength that is necessary to carry the pain and fear of my family.  My question is Lord, while I am taking care of everyone else, where is your gift to me (male or female) on Earth to take care of me. I am worn Lord. Please keeping doing as you always have, giving me strength in the darkest places.