"I wanna race with the sundown
I want a last breath that I don't let out
Forgive every being
The bad feelings, it's just me
I won't wait for answers
You can't keep me here"
I want a last breath that I don't let out
Forgive every being
The bad feelings, it's just me
I won't wait for answers
You can't keep me here"
My father had a quality of life with which (I believe) he was content up until he got pneumonia a few weeks ago. And while he could have recovered, I suspect he thought that this new bed-ridden lifestyle was all that was left to him, and that wasn't something he was prepared to endure. He refused to eat, and in a few days he was dead. I believe he made this choice. Some tell me it was not a choice, and that human instinct and illness and "time to go..." and blah blah blah... but I believe it was a choice, and that it was his choice, and I trust in my own experience of the world.
I respect his choice. In fact, I applaud it. He met his fate with courage and acceptance. We should all be so fortunate as to choose our own time and find the grace and strength to do so with dignity.
It's been a little over a week now, and the time between has gone by in a blur. So many things happened so fast that I can't remember half of it. I can tell you little bits about the weather because it reminded me of my mother's death. It was all strangely appropriate. And there are some things, both good and bad, that I know will stick with me: the welcome comforts both offered and expected from true friends, the conspicuous silence from those I apparently held closer than they hold me, the pleasant surprises from those who held me closer than I'd held them.
Times like these tell you a lot about your life, and about the quality of the people with which you surround yourself. I understand that many people, particularly those who've never felt such a loss themselves, don't know how to react. I appreciate that we all know, on both sides of the equation, that words feel somewhat hollow when faced with the deep sadness such an event brings. But nonetheless, just as I'm entitled to my grief at Dad's passing, I'm entitled to the happiness, anger, or disappointment that comes with the presence or absence of others in all this.
I won't name names but don't take this as a passive-aggressive outpouring. The reality is that some of my relationships will be changed forever; they can't not be. Cry fair or cry foul, but I cry "moment of clarity". It was part of the silver lining of the dark cloud of my mother's passing. It will be this time too.
Today, I'm mostly just tired. I feel ok physically, but I feel exhausted emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I'm numb and disconnected. I can tell when my brain is not working at full capacity. I know when I'm not as sharp or organized, or when I'm being forgetful about simple things I wouldn't otherwise miss. I want my brain back. Being unable to think straight, for any reason, makes me very vulnerable and uncomfortable. I need to get back into my groove at work. I need to get back to my normal home life. I want my routine. I want my day-to-day comforts. I want my life back.
I want to get back to feeling like myself again, even if it's a sadder version for a while.
At the same time, I also feel like it just hasn't even hit me yet, but that it can't or won't until I'm back to that routine. Without that routine, it's just a whole different life, and not the same life with a little piece missing, a hole that needs to be plugged or smoothed over. Until I reach that point, I can't be sure it's really hit home with me.
Until I'm done falling apart, I can't put myself back together.
I respect his choice. In fact, I applaud it. He met his fate with courage and acceptance. We should all be so fortunate as to choose our own time and find the grace and strength to do so with dignity.
It's been a little over a week now, and the time between has gone by in a blur. So many things happened so fast that I can't remember half of it. I can tell you little bits about the weather because it reminded me of my mother's death. It was all strangely appropriate. And there are some things, both good and bad, that I know will stick with me: the welcome comforts both offered and expected from true friends, the conspicuous silence from those I apparently held closer than they hold me, the pleasant surprises from those who held me closer than I'd held them.
Times like these tell you a lot about your life, and about the quality of the people with which you surround yourself. I understand that many people, particularly those who've never felt such a loss themselves, don't know how to react. I appreciate that we all know, on both sides of the equation, that words feel somewhat hollow when faced with the deep sadness such an event brings. But nonetheless, just as I'm entitled to my grief at Dad's passing, I'm entitled to the happiness, anger, or disappointment that comes with the presence or absence of others in all this.
I won't name names but don't take this as a passive-aggressive outpouring. The reality is that some of my relationships will be changed forever; they can't not be. Cry fair or cry foul, but I cry "moment of clarity". It was part of the silver lining of the dark cloud of my mother's passing. It will be this time too.
Today, I'm mostly just tired. I feel ok physically, but I feel exhausted emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I'm numb and disconnected. I can tell when my brain is not working at full capacity. I know when I'm not as sharp or organized, or when I'm being forgetful about simple things I wouldn't otherwise miss. I want my brain back. Being unable to think straight, for any reason, makes me very vulnerable and uncomfortable. I need to get back into my groove at work. I need to get back to my normal home life. I want my routine. I want my day-to-day comforts. I want my life back.
I want to get back to feeling like myself again, even if it's a sadder version for a while.
At the same time, I also feel like it just hasn't even hit me yet, but that it can't or won't until I'm back to that routine. Without that routine, it's just a whole different life, and not the same life with a little piece missing, a hole that needs to be plugged or smoothed over. Until I reach that point, I can't be sure it's really hit home with me.
Until I'm done falling apart, I can't put myself back together.
"You can’t go home, no I swear you never can
You can walk a million miles and get nowhere
I got no where to go and it seems I came back
Just filling in the lines for the holes, and the cracks"
You can walk a million miles and get nowhere
I got no where to go and it seems I came back
Just filling in the lines for the holes, and the cracks"
