The Tao of Té - Part 2

The Tao of Té – Part 2

Absolute numbness had, indeed, set in but it was not until I hugged my mother as she came out of the hallway that I began to cry. Her pain was a living, breathing entity in itself. It surrounded her and she looked decades older. (I’m sure she is overjoyed at me writing that but it accurately describes how acutely the loss hit her.)

I was exhausted from the flight and long drive so I went to their bedroom to sleep. Sasha was on the couch, Courtney in her room and mom was just going to try to catch a nap in my Dad’s room.

 

There are some people that would argue all day long that physical objects are simply those…physical objects. They do not have emotion. This is true and I do agree. However our mind attaches a physical emotion and a mental connection to objects and places. That is how the human mind operates. You, your emotions and your mind begin to associate times and feelings with things.

My dad’s room was one of these very powerful places in the house. He had been in the spare bedroom for a while due to him not sleeping well and his concern that his up and down movement throughout the night was keeping mom awake. He took his naps in there, his music equipment was stored in there and it felt as if he was in there.

I later found out he had passed away in there. I didn’t walk in the room the night I arrived. I just couldn’t. I just wanted to sleep and then tackle the morning.

I didn’t sleep even with sleeping pills.

I think the reality of the situation really sank in the next day.

My mother has always taken care of us. We come to visit and she feeds us, makes us breakfast and is a busy woman. For years she took care of Dad when he was ill and shouldered most of the burden around the home. It is just my mom’s way. She stays busy. Sasha and I definitely inherited that aspect of our psyche and personality from her. We constantly stay busy doing something and often are multitasking.  (It is Sunday morning and I’m writing this while playing Farmville. I don’t “do” downtime and relaxation. I just can’t.)

Walking into the living room and watching my mother ghost around the house finally opened a little bit of the grief valve. For weeks I had prepared myself, talked to myself, about what Dad meant to me and who is actually was in life.

I lost a father the previous day but my mother lost her best friend, lover, confidant and sole companion for 38+ years. My parents were of the generation where married people did not have “girls/boys nights out.” They did every single thing together. Her best friend was gone.

I’m sitting here, tears once again streaming down my face, merely thinking of these things. Of me never being able to see Kat and Kerri again, never talking to them again of them being gone forever and it pains me.

I hurt for my mother that day. I still had not really opened myself up to the grief welling inside. That came later because it has to come.

 

We sat at the table and discussed the memorial arrangements. We talked about family and friends. We looked at pictures and tried to come up with a plan.

Each time my mind tried to gently poke me, “Hey…you can cry now. Your daddy is dead and he is never coming back. This isn’t a joke. It isn’t a dream. Let it out.” I would clamp it firmly back down.

That day was hard but it was not the hardest by far. 24 hours had passed and I was still pretty numb. I was emotionally distanced from everything. I tried to do the “Shonté” and interject humor when things became intense and tried to get my family to focus on brevity or good memories for just a few moments, to lighten their burden. My humor is my main defense and offense. It has been for years but I use it quite a lot to help others and myself.

I think it comes quite a lot from Dad. He was a very empathic person and I am too. In a room filled with people, I can identify instantly which mood a person is in without talking to them. Yes…I do read body language and what they say but it is this feeling that I get. I can feel if they are irritated, angry, sad or upset. It is like a palpable pulse beating through the room.

 

As my best friend goes through her journey through the emotions surrounding her father’s passing, I want her to remember that it is okay to check out for a while. It is okay to find something to busy your hands and to just stop thinking. I saw my mom do that quite often and we all did it with Dad. It is a way to stop from breaking completely. You have to be strong for each other.

I would say that the stage after Numbness is Reality. Planning a memorial is REALITY. Coming to grips with the fact that you are never going to see your father again (we had Dad cremated) is REALITY. And it is a hard, bitter, jagged pill. Reality opens the door for true grief. The type of grief when your soul feels like it is crushing. Your heart hurts, head hurts and you cry so hard you cannot breathe.  I had that moment when it crashed down on me and all I could do was drop to my knees in the front yard. I became mad at myself for not calling more, not visiting more, not loving more and doing more for him and with him over the course of my life. Then I turned to pleading with God, the Creator, the Stars above…to do something. To give me back my daddy! I tried to bargain with any entity listening that I just needed time. 36 was too young to lose my dad and I still had things to say. We never got closure. I didn’t get to tell him the things I NEEDED to say. It wasn’t fair and I collapsed like a deck of cards.

The beginnings of true grief had set in.