Breaking the Silence

I have been silent for a long, long time.  I thought I was dealing but a few events of the past week have shown me that I'm not.  I haven't been running, just ignoring it. Hoping it would go away.  Hoping that it really didn't happen and that if I just went on with life as "normal" then it would all be as it should.

It just doesn't work that way.  Life has presented me with a new normal and though it resembles the old one, it is different.

The passing of my father was so very unexpected.  So blinding.  So harsh.  I thought we'd have at least another 20 years together.  He was on the mend.  The surgery was a success.  He was up and moving and spending the night in his own bed in his own home.  He was supposed to see my son grow.  He was supposed to stay at my house several more times.  He was supposed to laugh and heal and be happy again.

It's been three Sunday's since he passed.  Since the phone call that gutted my soul and left me a sobbing mess.  For a week I was transported somewhere else.  Somewhere where funerals were planned, stories were shared, tears were shed, and many embraces of comfort were given and received.  And then... back to life.  Back to Logan where everything looked the same.  Back to laundry and dishes and meals.  Back to getting things done.  Routine.  The sweet comfort of routine.  The past week to be forgotten.  Moving on. 

I thought I was dealing.  I had moments in private where I remembered.  I got past it.  People ask how I'm doing and it takes me a minute to realize what they are really asking.  Not the "how are you" but the "how are you".  Fine.  Really and truly fine.  Doing better than expected.  Taking comfort in the gospel.  Going forward.  Realizing that life is really really short.  People deal with this every day.  It's the order of things.  I'm not the only one who has lost a father and no special treatment is expected.  I'm fine.

But...

I didn't realize until Sunday, Mother's Day, on the way home from my mom's.  I wasn't doing fine.  I wasn't dealing.  I was pushing those emotions away, unsure how to deal.  Unsure how to feel.  Unsure whether I should be worried that I wasn't a messy pile of goo on the floor at least some of the time.  Should I have worse days?  Am I emotionally stunted?  Do I laugh anymore?

I was talking with David on the way home and voicing these thoughts for the first time.  Conversations with friends felt forced and uncomfortable.  Was it me or them?  Did I forget how to talk or do I just make people uneasy because I'm not talking about it?  Neither one of us knew the answer. 

Then I told David how mad I was because of the things that my dad didn't do.  The areas where I felt I had gotten the fuzzy end of the lollipop during childhood through to adulthood.  I felt angry that there was no more time to "get it right".  No more time to work on our relationship.  No more time to express my love.  No more time to get the conversation right, to get over the awkward stage of starting it.  And I felt guilty for being angry.  Guilty for daring to even think something negative about the man who has moved on from this life.  I did it anyway.  I listed all the things that bugged me and I dug deep.

Funny thing is that the deeper I dug into my past, determined to prove that this man had done a bad job, I couldn't hold on to my steam.  My anger was curbed and even dissipated as I realized how many more good things there were.  How many times of kindness, laughter, fun.  Tender moments that stand out more than all the rest.  Counsel given, love shown.

I've been putting off writing about my dad because I didn't know how to say anything.  I didn't like the picture my mind created of this event.  I could only see myself blubbering uncontrollably as I attempted to put into words the things that were happening in my life.  And yet I couldn't write anything else either.  Anything else was so... trivial.  So unimportant.  How could I just skip this life changing event and write about things like my gardening attempts or the increase in potted plants due to the funeral without actually talking about the loss?  It would have felt like a betrayal to my soul.

I am doing better.  I am thawing out.  Writing this is a big step for me.  It's one thing to have it written in the privacy of my own journal.  I can say anything I want and no one is the wiser.  But here.  Here is different.  Here is admitting that something happened even though all those who read more than likely know already.  Writing it down and sharing helps me deal.  I am dealing.  And now it's mostly good although I miss him terribly.

This picture was taken on July 14, 2012  Dad's 62nd birthday.
He passed away on April 21, 2013 

Which one of these things is not like the other?

One of the things that Ben really enjoys is sitting in his chair and being stuffed in it with all his stuffed animals. This was a lucky picture from my phone since the minute they are all on top of him, he usually just starts to push the animals off.  I really love the expression.

A special little rant...

Dear friends,

It's been awhile.  I gave my laptop a home in the basement and it's been good mostly.  Good because I'm not spending nearly as much time checking email or facebook or anything else.  It's given me some breathing room that I needed.  You see it used to be in the kitchen and it was just too easy to check something "real quick" while making breakfast and then get myself trapped, and off schedule and behind in every other part of my life.

The bad part is that now I have to intentionally get on the computer.  I have to make time instead of stealing it.  Not the easiest thing to do sometimes.  But occasionally, something so... amazing? happens that the time is made.  Like now.

Last Saturday we went to the park as a family.  David's parents and brothers were up for Easter and we were all enjoying the sunshine.  It was also Ben's first experience at the park and there were a gazillion kids, as we knew there would be.  But it was fun.  David and I were experiencing things through new eyes and were excited to introduce Ben to the joys of slides, which he cried on, and swings, which he loved, and walking on the grass, which he barely tolerated.  Being unsure how he would handle it, we were understandably very close at all times, especially when he was going up the stairs on the playground equipment, scared to death that he would trip and fall out the open sides.

There was another couple watching us.  They were younger, as most people with small children are.  They were friendly enough though.  After a little small talk the mother asked "Is he your first?"  We beamed proudly and answered in the affirmative.  She replied "No wonder you still act like he's special. After two or three you'll get over it."

Neither David nor myself knew how to respond to this.  We must have said something, or maybe just laughed a little awkwardly and then made our way away from her and her three children who apparently are not special anymore because she's gotten over it.

Perhaps it's weird but I felt a little wounded.  Like I had been weighed, measured and found wanting.  Like I obviously did not "get" what this parenthood thing was all about.  That I must not have enough experience with children because if I did I would realize that I didn't need to treat my kid like he's something special because after three they are all ordinary.  Same.  Nothing to be celebrated.

This experience reminded me of that of another friend.  One who also has an only child.  She was told that she wasn't a "real" mother since she only had the one.  Weighed, measured, and found wanting.  Like she hadn't carried her son for 9 months.  Like she didn't love him and worry about him and lose sleep over him the way a mother does.  Like if you don't have at least three or four munchkins running around creating havoc then you aren't a "real" mother because it's all about the battle scars and the more you have the more qualified you are.  What a load of crap.

I sat down with my mother-in-law and told her about this little one-liner experience.  She was a bit taken aback as well which made me feel better.  I wondered what the woman would have said if I had responded with something like: "I'm sorry that your children are no longer special, that must be difficult for them." or "I won't have to worry about two or three since I'm barren and it's a miracle we have this one." Toss a little awkwardness back.

In fairness to the mom at the park, she may have just been tired.  She may not have realized how her words would sound when she said them.  I know that she didn't know us and our situation.  She may have just seen an overprotective set of parents following their child around the park desperately wanting him to have a good time and not get hurt. 

In fairness to me, my child is special.  Every child is special. Each little spirit has something to give to this world.  That does not mean that my child is perfect or that he will get away with murder.  Because he doesn't and he won't.  I want to be able to enjoy every minute of his little life, but that's just unrealistic.  I love him with all my heart, but sometimes naptime can't come quickly enough.  I also believe that part of my job as a parent is raising a child with enough discipline that other people will like him too.  That is not an easy task either.  But even in the midst of a meltdown, my child is still special.  If the Lord sees fit to bless us with another little miracle, and rest assured a miracle it will be, then I plan on treating that new little spirit as special and welcome and joyful and delightful as my first.

So.  Moral of the rant?  Be careful what you say.  Be careful how you react.  And for goodness sake remember that your children are special.

Bringing in April with a bang,

Lora

Dear Friday...

Dear Friday,
I'm so glad that you are here, but why did you have to bring snow too?

Dear David,
You are the love of my life.  Sometimes I forget that and sometimes it comes rushing back with full force.  Thank you for being the man that you are.  The one who helps me, listens to me, and loves me despite me.

Dear Ben,
I love your stinkin' guts! Your twin drool lines down your face crack me up. I can't get over how big you are getting and I would like you to slow it down just a bit.  At least until I can relish these moments a little more.

Dear Flowers,
I know you are getting another layer of snow but please do not let this deter you from showing yourselves.  I have been looking forward to your arrival for months now and I am ridiculously excited for your color and life.

Dear Quilt,
I'm almost done with you.  Did you ever think it would happen?  Me neither.  Thanks for hanging in there through it all.

A lovely weekend to you all,

Lora

Coming out of the dark...

Ages, that is.  The dark ages.  You know, those times without computers. 

We were down one in our house.  And since the hubs was the one looking for work and all, we thought it best that he use the laptop that I had mostly claimed as mine while I used... nothing.  Which meant that I could only get on the computer briefly.  For quick FB updates and no blog reading whatsoever.

I gotta be honest, the reprieve was quite nice and I did get a few other things done, like quilting and laundry.  I even played with my child! Oh the benefits of being unconnected!  I rather enjoyed it.  It was nice not having the computer so... available to my every whim.

But lest we get carried away and think that I would give it up forever, I am back.  With good news too!

1.  David got a job!!  He starts Monday and will be working from home.  This will certainly be a new and exciting adventure for us that will save on both the gas for the car bill and on eating out.  Commute time is great as well.

2.  Due to new job, new computer.  Which means that my laptop really has become my laptop!  And I have a desk which I am ridiculously excited about.  Since David needed an office to make this whole work from home thing actually, well, work, we converted the downstairs front bedroom which was doubling as a disaster area complete with old empty boxes and broken things shoved in every corner into an office.  Complete with a newly painted D.I. desk and wall art  I took before picture but am waiting for the finishing touches for the after.  So I now have sole possession of the other reclaimed desk that was so graciously bestowed upon us by our neighbors who moved and are still mourned.  I painted it black with a light green top.  David never knew what to think about the green. I fell in love with it immediately.  I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have fit through the doorway of his office without some creative sawing.  So it was pretty much destined to be mine.  So happy!

So.  New job, new workspace, new adventure.  Life is pretty good my friends.  Happy to be able to stay in Logan and share.

CY365: Tree

The trees outside are frosty and cold.  The tree in here seems much more inviting, even if it is vinyl on the wall.

Catch Up Time

It's CY365 catch up time.  I've been missing in action, at least in the blogging world.  And well... here ya go.

 

February 13: Swing

 

I opted not to do this one because a) we don't have a swing b) the swings we have access to are covered with snow and c) the only alternative I could thing of was "mood swing" and no one wants to see that.  You're welcome.

 

February 14: Love

 

Nothing says love like heart shaped bacon... nothing.

 

February 15: Pride

 

I bought Ben a pair of church shoes so he could look all stellar and stuff. I just thought they would look so cute on his little feet and we could go to church all proud of our well dressed little boy. There was just a slight problem. He HATED them. I mean hate. I put them on and he actually threw a fit! Being a good parent I laughed as he stomped around trying to get the offending things off. Oh we have a lot to learn!

 

February 16: Emotion

 

Nothing could have prepared me for the unexpected Valentine that showed up in my mailbox. It made my week!  No offense honey, but this... this... was just awesome.  Emotions? I think so.

 

The inside says "... to tell me that you've stolen my heart."

February 17: Color from the Garden

 

Clearly the people making these prompts live somewhere much different than here.  And because this is my photo capturing tour, I decided to take this one literally.  So here is exactly what my garden looks like right now.

 

 

February 18: A Favorite Snack

 

Favorite snack? Anything chocolate.  But it was not nearly as photographable as my little guy enjoying his favorite snack.  There's a whole ritual involved.  He talks to it, he holds it up to be praised by all, he rubs it on his face, and finally he eats it.  Behold the graham cracker.

 

 

 

On an non-photograph related note, I am really quite enjoying this project.  Especially when I gave up on the "artsy" side that I wanted to pursue.  The title is Capture Your 365.  Well this is it. My life.  My people.  Exactly what is happening. 365 days of the year.  Or at least the 28 days of February.

 

Happy Monday everyone.

CY365: three days worth!

February 10: Garage

I wasn't quite sure what to take for this picture since we have no garage.  I thought perhaps I could take a picture of everything that would go in the garage should we actually get one, and I'm not just talking about the car.  Camping equipment and random things like sanders and jigsaws.  All stuff that a garage would welcome.  Then I thought perhaps I could have a little fun with Ben and make a garage for his many cars and trains.  Then I stumbled upon this beauty just proving that my "forced play time" can never make up for what he does on his own.

I literally stumbled upon this and knew it was the perfect "garage" shot.

February 11: Entertain

Sometimes nothing brings quite so much entertainment to both young and old than a simple balloon.

February 12: Celebrate

This is for David. A true celebration.  We have some daily goals that we get points for.  When we reach 200 then the other person has to do something for us.  I get a massage and David gets pie.  This is a Chocolate Cream Cheese Pie that turned out pretty darn good. And the cheesy look on his face says it all.