Sand Head

Published December 14, 2016 by sarcasmica

This time of year is hard for lots of people. For me it’s a time of remembering losing my dad. It’s been 15 years.

Somehow I’m old enough to have missed my dad for the last fifteen years. This does not compute. It’s always a routine of “this time ___ years ago…” but this year I just allowed myself to keep busy. I should know by now this doesn’t work, but there’s not consistency to grief. Grief decides when you will pay attention to it, not you.

My husband has a surgery scheduled for tomorrow. He’s going to be laid up for quite some time. Because of this we have been getting rooms ready, houses ready, prep, prep and more prep. In the back of my mind I was keeping an eye on dates and potential gloom, but I wasn’t allowing it in.

I should know by now that this always finds a way out. Sadness, loss, grief, tears, sorrow, it all has it’s own path. You can pave that path, or it can tear through like a flash flood or a tsunami. Today was more of a heavy downpour. Today it all burst through the damn of tunnel vision.

The morning was rushed, a child took my breakfast which I then replaced just to hear the stolen meal was not delicious enough (most likely because I hadn’t had a chance to even take a bite of it yet) and more than half was thrown away.

This did not do it.

The morning chant of “Shoes shoes shoes” was performed, the backpack replay was sung, the MOVE IT remix was done. After getting out the door late with a failed attempt at hair decorations for my daughter and ponytail complaints we load up into the car already late to find an iced over windshield and no scraper…. that scraper WAS in the car before all the prep for the surgery was done and now where is it? In the garage.

After scraping, driving, dropping off, I head to my volunteer gig. On the way I replay the morning – as usual – and all the petty things come into my mind. Was I calm and loving with my kids? No. Was I patient? No. Did I offer my gloves to my daughter who wailed about forgetting hers? No.

There were reasons for all of those “No”s, but did they matter? Not while I was alone driving to my thing. I couldn’t help but feel a pang for all the parents who lost their babies four years ago in the Newtown tragedy. Loss. Regrets. Pain and anguish. It finds a way out.

I reflected on how grumpy i’ve been with my husband while we prepare for this shift. It’s not his fault, but things are going undone and being left for me while he gets his ducks in a row. It’s completely understandable, but I still feel the way I feel regardless.

I was too dented at this point not to let the recognition of the loss of my dad resonate a little off of my brain. .. so I just let it. I cried for how much I miss him … again. I cried for him missing his grandson’s Winter Concert. My son looked so handsome and proud in that suit, my dad would have loved to have seen it.

So today it all came crashing and tumbling down regardless of the other stuff that was happening. (like driving!)

It gets easier, but it doesn’t suck any less. It just sucks for a shorter time when it happens… and honestly it does happen less often.

So here we are again saying goodbye. I miss you dad.

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