Walking through the Chaos

I didn’t update yesterday because, I guess my mind was occupied. For a little segment of time I didn’t necessarily feel like emptying my heart- which I guess could be a good thing in this sense?

I’ve mentioned before that everyone handles death and grieving differently. Me, especially recently, I haven’t been able to have normal conversations, answering in one or two words, not able to look people in the eyes, my posture sunken and eyes glued to the floor.

I went over to my moms yesterday to clear my head, get some silence, have the space I needed if I wanted it. I came here on a mission to go through the old photo albums/boxes to see if I could find any memories of my dad and I, get some cries out, try healing in that sense.

I found my photo box but what it contained was a mere four photos of my dad and I. To say it crushed me a little would be an understatement.

On top of my remorse, just being here in the presence of my mom was the most relief I’ve felt recently. Although she’s not my Dad, nor will she ever be able to bring him back; she’s the other half of me, literally, and it felt good to finally feel ‘being’ for a second. She has this way of just appearing and it makes my whole being feel like whatever shitstorm is hitting the fan, it’ll work itself out.

I think deep down, I just want some other connection to my Dad that I can’t possibly bring upon myself, so She is the answer.

The energy here is different. Where I can sort of just breath and stretch. It’s weird but maybe it’s because I haven’t been able to have that feeling next to me for awhile. She was out for awhile while I sat sorting through photos and sifting through to see if I could spark any memories from my childhood, in between the tears of course.

Not sure why I can’t recall any of my childhood memories, maybe my own way of protecting myself- again, working on it in therapy- but She sort of connects the dots and it’s soothing for my crippled heart. Maybe the medicine I needed. She came back and I again couldn’t really keep focus on her, staring off, being short, holding back from breaking down again.

She could tell something was up, I mean moms always can. I told her how much pain I was in and I need to just be in a place that’s solace and I can grieve in my own way, be in the silence if I need to, and to feel safe and secure. She completely got that and embraced me tenderly as she kindly offered up her place for me to stay.

It’s temporary, and another adjustment, yet again- but I think this is something I severely need, it’s not even a want anymore. I feel depleted in all aspects of life currently, and I think I just need the tender touch of my mothers love to sooth over the bruises and tell me it’s going to be ok.

I think life is a series of ups and downs and working through the blockages in the road, but if you don’t have those resources or skills to get through them, then it’s really just a recipe for no return.

We took a long walk today with the dog and getting outside, feeling the fresh air, the sunshine I so long for these days I think really helped heaps. It’s the little things like that, that if I was by myself, I’d just sit at home all day, trying to sleep, stare blankly at the wall, cry while washing my face, brushing my teeth, toasting my bread, going to the bathroom.

She’s a beautiful distraction and healing remedy that I was so afraid to admit to myself that I desperately needed. I don’t look at it as failure, but just rerouting on this endless life journey. Of course it feels weird, but I’m a mama’s girl at heart, so being near her, since I’ve always avoided family and connections at best, has really helped to make me face my demons and fears head on at the source.

She doesn’t cook like Dad in the slightest. She doesn’t smell like him nor does she ever stay quiet. She talks through our favorite movies and shows, and buys little knick knacks everywhere she can, as opposed to giving everything away like Dad. She does like cats, just like he said he hated them, and we’d always catch him snoozing with our three growing up.

She’s not my Dad, but she’s half of what was my whole and what I have left. If I can start now, I’ll be happy down the road that I didn’t avoid this relationship like I have the others.

That I healed in my own way and time.

I’m not ready to reveal to the world what happened to me. Not that there’s any rules that say you have to, but being somewhat present on social media, I usually write heartfelt entries about things that happen in my life. The anxiety leading up to that day, until that clears, I will cherish the silence that I have now.

A weird part of me hates the attention, all the condolences and “I’m so sorry’s” Partially because they can’t undo what’s been done, so the repeated message and reminded kind of undoes what I’m trying to heal and bandage up. Another part of me also wishes there was some other way of comforting someone in this hard time. I have no idea what, but the ‘sorry’s’ aren’t doing it for me, so I stay in the shadows keeping to myself until I can proudly boast about the great man my Father was.

It’s obviously not about the likes or comments received, again everyone heals differently. I’m starting to sound like a broken record these days, but I think this is my mantra that’s keeping me afloat, sane, and safe.

There’s no rulebook so I’m taking this one damn day at a time.



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