I was laying in bed last night at 2:47 am after just waking up for some unknown odd reason and I started thinking about this adoption, this blog thing I have going and dad. He was very concerned about me adopting again (both mom and dad were against me doing this the first time but came around wonderfully and completely embraced their new grand daughter with open arms). When dad was concerned about something one of his daughters was doing, he would voice it in his own special way "I don't know toots", followed by a shake of the head. The subject would then be dropped... pretty much, forever. I can always tell when my parents don't agree with something I'm doing because they don't ask about it, they don't ask how things are going, if there is anything new happening with this particular thing, nothing. At least until they either come around and understand it or they finally realize that it is going to happen regardless of whether they agree with it or not.
Dad would have absolutely loved the whole idea of this blog though, even if he wasn't completely on board yet with the second adoption. He would have accessed it every day, posting comments, passing the address on to his friends (especially those at Benton High) and pretty soon I would be receiving truckloads of well wishes and positive comments from people I don't even know. He was tickled beyond words to get the occasional email from China on the first trip so I know this genre (?) of "blog" communication would have been right up his alley. I will be thinking about him every time I post from China and hoping he has high speed access through heaven.com.
Cindys birthday was yesterday so she called everyone in the morning and sang happy birthday to herself (not sure what happened there:-)). I spoke to her later and she said "You know, my dad always calls me on my birthday and sings to me, I'm still waiting". I suspect that death affects everyone differently and everyone reacts/handles the effect of it differently. In fact I know this just from looking inside my own family.
Just over the last few years, the possibility of losing my parents has really come to the forefront of my mind. I think the thought enters periodically at birthdays (both my own and my parents) or other times but of late it really has been predominant in my mind as I've noticed how my parents are slowing down. I couldn't help but wonder who would go first, would it be quick? would they suffer? How will I handle it all? But then the steel door in my brain slams shut loudly and prevents me from taking the thought process any further. My steel door, my freind , my protector.
There is no other way to describe dad's death other than truly bizarre. The concept of "Time" previous to that day seemed very thick, heavy, solid and stable but during the whole ordeal, it became liquid, untouchable, unstoppable yet unmoving, shape-shifting, unreliable and deceiving. It is even more so, all of these things, in hindsight or maybe hindsight is where the actual feelings came about to begin with?
During the time that I received the phone call from mom that they were admitting dad to the VA and 24+ hours forward is a deep thick fog that almost takes your breath away but miraculously, allows you to continue breathing, even when you feel like you just want to stop. Sleep wasn't needed, food wasn't needed, cigarettes weren't needed. Adrenaline is coursing quickly through every vein and cell making you completely and totally alert. I've never felt more alive, more sad or more helpless in my entire life. Because the situation is so out of personal control, I found myself observing more, trying to zero in on things that I could control, things that I could help with that would make me feel like I was doing something, making some difference. Why am I so addicted to doing? changing? instigating? implementing?
The most perfect word to describe "after" is simply disbelief (predominantly anyway, there is a rash of diverse emotions experienced in minute seconds that are indescribable simply because they are just too fleeting) , not day after day of disbelief but little quick flashes of disbelief. Like you all of a sudden remembered that you are an hour from home and you left the stove on - the quick, stabbing pain of a bad memory and then the agony of settling realization of truth. The stove thing is not a good analogy, I'm afraid because the flashes typically start nice and peaceful with a good memory of something on the four corners of your mind (or on the tip of your tongue but just...can't...grasp....it). Memory goes from ticking off the ingredients for chili on my way to pick up Chloe from daycare, remembering that I had thrown it all in a pot on the stove on low so it would almost be done when I got back home with Chloe, trying to remember if I had seen saltine crackers in the pantry or not, oh...and Dad LOVES chili, I should call h-!!!! FLASH!... disbelief...settling realization, complete sadness.
There are many moments like this, many firsts. I am not sure how many times one must go through these firsts, how many nicks we must collect on our hearts before it slows down but I think the how many is the part that everyone handles differently. The more firsts you have with that person or the intenseness or meaning linked to these firsts probably determines how quickly or how slowly time returns back to it's solid, forgiving and trustworthy perception.
One emotion/feeling that I experienced after dad's death that I was completely unprepared for was that I was just plain scared. I was scared of everything. Maybe this is what they mean when they say that death makes you realize your own mortality? I couldn't get to sleep at night because I was worried, scared, thoughts racing about nothing, everything....thinking about Chloe and what happens if I die? She is set up of course but what happens to her emotionally? Will she hurt this much? What can I do now to make sure she doesn't hurt this much when death happens? I would finally fall asleep, exhausted, only to wake up a few hours later feeling scared again. It is very bizarre and unsettling. It was like losing a piece of my security system that is hardwired into my body and now that it's gone, I am so much more vulnerable than I was before, like I don't have skin.
Buddhism teaches that nothing remains the same. Everything is in a constant state of change, constantly moving. Death is part of this change, it is part of life. Buddhism also teaches that attachments and desires are ultimately what causes our suffering and unhappiness. The desire for things to stay as they are, the desire to selfishly keep our loved ones close causes us pain when this doesn't happen, when things are out of control; actually not "when", it is more a realization that things have always been and will always be out of our control not "when". We hold on to our religions and philosophies about life in times of grief and need in hopes that they will get us through one more minute, hour or day until we can settle back in to our comfortable life progression.
But who or what fills up that hole caused by death? How can it possibly heal? I don't think it does really. I think we just learn to live with less. Less confidence, less connection, less love. We go through only the motions of life at first (which could be days, months, years) until that hole starts to feel familiar like its been there for awhile so we don't have to pay so much attention to it anymore. On the contrary, I feel we do gain as well; we are more humble, we gain more respect for our bodies and our health, we hopefully gain more empathy for others that have lost loved ones or just experienced a loss of some kind, as well as more understanding of our own personalities.
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