Tao of Té - Part 1

The Tao of Té

 

It may seem rather presumptuous to base a philosophy upon oneself but this blog series is really just a walk through guide, so to speak, of the real stages of grief. The reality that self-help books will not just spell plain and simple about the grieving process and what REAL people do when they love someone. It is not a step by step guide. Your experience with grief is different than mine but by me sharing what me and my loved ones went through…it may help you create your own guide to help you when the darkness is too much and there is no light to guide the way.

 

On November 8^th, 2012 I lost the most important man in my life. That is not a slight to my husband but a dad holds a very different spot than any other man can ever fill. A father is a provider, a punisher, a friend, a confidant and the one person who loves you even when you are not being very loveable.

Father’s are who guide us in life and give us a foundation on the partner we were meant to be with. He gives us advice, largely ignored until we finally settle down, on how to raise our children, how to be a good spouse and how to be a good adult.

I’ll clarify and further say that a Father does not have to be one biologically related to us. It is any man that has stepped into your life and been there for you.

 

The journey you have begun is not an easy one and I will not tell you that I know what you are going through because each person’s grief, and method of coping with that grief, is different. There will be some crying moments as you read this and there will be some that stop you in your tracks and maybe even a few that cause a laugh or two. Grieving takes many forms and it is different across the globe. Even within a small selection of people, no two people grieve alike.

 

And so the journey begins…..

 

The Numb Stage/A.K.A Disbelief

 

My call came at 4:00 AM Pacific Time. I knew when I picked up my cell phone and saw missed calls and many messages what had happened. Instantly my brain went numb and I became very detached. I knew what those calls were about and when the phone rang again, I picked it up.

Courtney said, “Come home now.”

My response, “No. No. No. Don’t do this Courtney. It isn’t true. Don’t tell me this. No.”

Courtney sobbed and in the background I could hear my sister wailing in grief. “He’s gone.”

I instantly froze. Why would my sister be playing this joke on me? My dad was not dead. No! He couldn’t be dead because I had meant to call him the night before to discuss “Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter” with him and chat to compare notes on the movie versus the book.

He could NOT be dead. My dad does not die. He may get sick and things look rocky but he does NOT die. That happens to other people.

I listened to her and very calmly told her I’d fly in immediately. I sat down at the computer and booked my flight. I had moments of tears as I told Maesin and made calls to friends and my daughter Kennedy.

 

But it didn’t seem real. It was very detached. I felt clinical in my approach. I walked downstairs, after packing my suitcase, and prepared a cup of coffee. I sat there waiting until time to go to the airport. I didn’t think of anything other than getting to the airport, onto the plane and then off the plane.

The plane ride, in and of itself, was sheer misery. It was a waiting game which is a deadly game for your brain to play when your loved one has passed away. I could not break down into hysterical tears as I wanted to do but instead had to find other things to think of so that I would not become a squalling, bawling mess.

I had moments of anger that day while waiting to touchdown in Little Rock. Portland, Oregon to Little Rock, Arkansas is a very long series of plane rides and waiting. I was irritated that I had to find out about my father’s arrangements and visitation from Facebook. I imagined tons of scenarios in which the family would bicker and fall apart, which some families do when a loved one passes away.

I felt shoved aside at times. I would talk to my best friends periodically throughout the day and they would try their best to comfort me. I still felt numb. It just was not real to me.

My lifelong friend Kerri picked me up from the airport and just seeing her was a bright spot in my very dark day. I had moments, during the car ride home, that grief and madness seemed to blur into my brain and emotions but largely I remained stoic. That was a feeling that was not going to last long.

I look back and realize that I was in complete denial. The logical side of my brain said, “Dad isn’t in pain anymore and that is a good thing.”

The emotional side of my brain said, “I want my daddy back! I didn’t get to say goodbye. I will never see my daddy again.”

Even typing those words now, almost four months later, still brings tears coursing down my face.

That emotional side appears often some days. It is that thought that invades the mind and you try to grasp that concept. There are people from my past that I probably will never see again but it is not because of death. Those separations were painful, and felt heartbreaking at the time, but they do not compare, in the least, to the idea that one of the people you loved more than life itself, is gone forever.

Kerri and I talked non-stop during the drive to my parent’s house. I tried to avoid talking about Dad by focusing the conversation on other matters.

Let me stop and clarify something: grief sometimes has to have a break. I truly do believe that you can still be racked with pain and still talk about other things. I believe it is our mind taking a break lest it break.

So Kerri and I laughed over things from our past, current events and books. It was a way of focusing on something other than the dark shadow in my heart and mind.

 

Pulling up to Mom and Dad’s was horrific. Every step towards the door felt like it was mired in concrete. I did NOT want to walk into that living room because the last time I had been home…Dad was alive. I had some tiny spark of hope that I would walk in and he would be sitting there in the recliner. My sisters and mom were wrong and had played a mean joke on me just to get me to pay everyone a visit.

It was not a joke. Walking in and seeing that recliner empty was a slap of reality.

Every time I’ve ever been back to my parents, over the years, I could always count on Dad being in that chair or walking into the room to call of the pack of dogs. He’d come walking up, hug me tightly, and say, “What’s going on Red?” or he’d say, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

He was not there. He did not greet me. The house did not feel any different than normal except he wasn’t sitting in his chair. He wasn’t sitting at the dining room table.

My sister was asleep on the couch but my mom was still awake. It was 2:30 AM and I was exhausted from a very long day. She walked up to me, face haggard with grief and emotion, and hugged me. I began to cry. For the first time that entire day I truly began to feel grief and the reality of the situation hit me.

My dad was gone and nothing I did, thought or said was bringing him back.