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Thank you so much to everyone who has responded to my last post or to me in person or email with hugs, condolences, love and sympathy. I care very much for you all and deeply appreciate the thoughts. I intend to respond to everyone, but it's taking most of my energy just to hold it together at the moment.
I've gone to work the last couple of days in a conscious effort to keep myself around people. My office is full of stressed out people with far too much on their plates, but somehow we all find the time to care for each other when the proverbial hits the fan. Nobody minds if I need to go for a walk for a little while or just shut myself off with a cup of tea. With the help of my colleagues I've worked out that because this year has been so very crappy, next year I should be owed a million bucks and a Swedish masseuse boyfriend. And a pony.
(And yes, it would be preferable if the Swedish masseuse could show up riding the pony, which for the purposes of that fantasy will be known as 'the white steed'.)
The funeral is arranged for next Tuesday. I'll be flying up to Sydney for the day and coming straight back; I'd arranged to take some leave at the end of the month for a visit anyway. In some ways I think that will be better for all of us - Mum, Sarah and I will all have the space to process things a bit before coming together.
Speaking of family, my mother was tossing up whether or not she should contact my half sister (Dad's other daughter) to let her know. The last time they'd spoken was several years ago when Dad was really sick and it looked like he might die. Her response then was "I don't want to know anything more about him, even if he dies." I've no idea why. My bad experiences with Dad were very specific to being a disabled kid with a father who thought he could heal anyone.
So Mum was really torn about calling her. I suggested that whatever was said several years ago, she should at least know so she could tell her children and my half brother. When Mum rang my half sister said she was so glad Mum had called. Moreover, she said she wants to have contact with Sarah and I, and to know about us. I really hope this happens. She could fill in so many gaps about my Dad. I've never met anyone from his side of the family, and it feels like I have a very lopsided family tree. It would also be nice to know if there are other people out there who look like me. I'm very much my mother's daughter, but most of my physical appearance is from Dad's side. I'm not pinning too much on it, though - she may change her mind. It seems almost like too big a gift to come out of this.
As for how I'm feeling... well, it varies. I'm more familiar with grief than most twenty-eight year olds. I know it comes and goes and you can't predict two minutes ahead. Losing my hearing was so hard in part because I thought I should feel the one thing all the way through. After losing Jim nearly two years ago I already feel like I know what losing a father can mean in some small sense. I'm really just marking time until the funeral, when hopefully some doors will finally close.
I've gone to work the last couple of days in a conscious effort to keep myself around people. My office is full of stressed out people with far too much on their plates, but somehow we all find the time to care for each other when the proverbial hits the fan. Nobody minds if I need to go for a walk for a little while or just shut myself off with a cup of tea. With the help of my colleagues I've worked out that because this year has been so very crappy, next year I should be owed a million bucks and a Swedish masseuse boyfriend. And a pony.
(And yes, it would be preferable if the Swedish masseuse could show up riding the pony, which for the purposes of that fantasy will be known as 'the white steed'.)
The funeral is arranged for next Tuesday. I'll be flying up to Sydney for the day and coming straight back; I'd arranged to take some leave at the end of the month for a visit anyway. In some ways I think that will be better for all of us - Mum, Sarah and I will all have the space to process things a bit before coming together.
Speaking of family, my mother was tossing up whether or not she should contact my half sister (Dad's other daughter) to let her know. The last time they'd spoken was several years ago when Dad was really sick and it looked like he might die. Her response then was "I don't want to know anything more about him, even if he dies." I've no idea why. My bad experiences with Dad were very specific to being a disabled kid with a father who thought he could heal anyone.
So Mum was really torn about calling her. I suggested that whatever was said several years ago, she should at least know so she could tell her children and my half brother. When Mum rang my half sister said she was so glad Mum had called. Moreover, she said she wants to have contact with Sarah and I, and to know about us. I really hope this happens. She could fill in so many gaps about my Dad. I've never met anyone from his side of the family, and it feels like I have a very lopsided family tree. It would also be nice to know if there are other people out there who look like me. I'm very much my mother's daughter, but most of my physical appearance is from Dad's side. I'm not pinning too much on it, though - she may change her mind. It seems almost like too big a gift to come out of this.
As for how I'm feeling... well, it varies. I'm more familiar with grief than most twenty-eight year olds. I know it comes and goes and you can't predict two minutes ahead. Losing my hearing was so hard in part because I thought I should feel the one thing all the way through. After losing Jim nearly two years ago I already feel like I know what losing a father can mean in some small sense. I'm really just marking time until the funeral, when hopefully some doors will finally close.
