Memories of Memorial Day

Last year I spent Memorial Day sitting by Papa Bear's bedside, with the gradual realization hitting my soul...I was losing my Dad.  By the end of the day, I had first hand experience with what happens when a crash team is called into a room at a hospital. I stood in the corner, trying really hard to be brave and strong.  Really, I was falling apart.

The crash team was accompanied by the hospital chaplain, a woman, which made me extremely happy.  She made her way into the room, stood by my side, put her arm around me and said, "This is your dad?  Can I pray?"  I'm pretty sure I fervently said yes, please and then she prayed.  I don't remember the prayer but I remember the moment and the comfort I received, being reminded that God was there.

The past year has been tough.  Really, really tough.  In the last year I've realized that I didn't just lose my Dad that week, I lost one of my best friends.  The friend that greeted me each day when I came home.  The friend that I talked politics with, watched Giants (baseball) with and the Jon Stewart show on occasion.  I lost a friend who helped me see beyond myself and my little world, who urged me to explore, cheered me on and made me laugh, even when I really didn't want to laugh - I cannot tell you how frustrated that skill made me as a teenager!

A month or so after Papa Bear died, I was in Star$ and ran into a friend.  It was one of those days where I had woken up crying and just continued to cry throughout the day.  I was holding it as together as I could, while getting my coffee before going to work, when I saw this friend.  He came over and said "How are you?" and the tears started again.  This friend looked at me, with the wisdom of someone who knew about grief and said "It comes in waves.  Just ride the waves."

This week, I'm going to be riding the waves.  The waves of memories of the week when life changed irrevocably, the waves of pain that have been hidden under a protective layer for a few months, the waves of loss and loneliness.  Yep, this week I'm going to be riding the waves.  I miss my Dad...a lot.

Getting back in the game

My blog feed reader, Feedly, was filled today with blog posts by individuals that are titled "How To...".  I looked at those titles this morning and closed Feedly without reading a single one.  I may be in one of those moods but I just don't want to read a "how to" post on being a better Christ follower or person, the formulaic sound of those titles just turned me off.  As I've mulled over it I realized that blogging, in the years since I started (8 years ago this coming Sunday!), has changed.

I rarely read blog posts about a regular persons life anymore.  I read sermons, or "how to's" or blog articles bemoaning about the changing culture of Christianity.  I read blog articles telling me how to live a better life or the 15 steps I need to take to be a better person but rarely, anymore, do I giggle over stories about someone's day or sit and cry in a crowded airport as someone I have never met shares their heartache over lost relationships in a heart wrenching blog post. What I want to read is about the messy, mundane, at-times spectacularly unsuccessful regular persons life.

I miss those posts.  I miss the humanity in those posts.  I miss the connections. I miss blogging, myself.  So, here and now, I vow to return to regular blogging (minimum once a week).  I'll be one messy, mundane, at-times spectacularly unsuccessful regular person who shares her messy, mundane, at-times spectacularly unsuccessful life with those who care to read about it...one blog post at a time.

Well Hello...

Long time no see.

Yes, I still exist.  Yes, I do remember I have a blog.  Yes, I do miss writing here.

I'm finding writing difficult, these days.  My work days have me up between 5:45 and 6:30am, depending on the day, out the door by 7:25 (at the latest) and home between 5:45pm and 6:30pm...depending on the day. There is a span between Tuesday evening and Thursday evening that I usually don't even see Yo Momma...and we live in the same house!  The last thing I want to do have energy for when I get home from work, in the two or so hours before I go to bed, is think and write a blog post.

The weekends aren't much better.  Being a true introvert, my Saturdays are usually spent trying to recharge so that I can call up all the energy I need to pretend to be an extrovert for work on Monday...and church on Sunday.  Add in the weight of grief and depression I've been dealing with for awhile now, and well, I just don't want to think very hard on the weekends either.

The time that inspiration does strike I'm usually either,

1. In the car driving to or from work.
2. At work.

Neither of those times are conducive to writing a blog post, so the blog sits, waiting for attention.

Actually, a lot of things, and people, sit waiting for attention.  I just don't have the energy, mental, physical or emotional.

I've struggled with the guilt of seemingly letting people down.  It is difficult to navigate the road of other's expectations and my own mental and emotional health.  I've had people try to shove guilt on my head and I've had people look me in the eye and say "You have permission to focus on yourself, to take care of yourself."  I'm trying to listen to the latter group.  What I realize is that I am not the person I was in April 2014.  I've changed...life has changed, not just in the last year but in the last three years...and I can't go back to being the person I was.

I'm wounded.  I'm healing. The scars are still fresh and painful to the touch.  I'm waiting for the day when they just ache but that's still a long ways off.  Until then, I get by the best I can.  It's all I can do at the moment...and that's enough.