It’s like a hot bed of DNA that is just crazy.


I never let my children use the word hate.  I always make them correct it to severely dislike or something less mean.  “You don’t hate anyone or anything” I would say.  My older two children will probably relish in the post I am doing today.  For their mother hates something.

I hate how in daily life I can be taken to a place of sadness is a split second.  A place where I must control my voice, my expression, my being.  Where grief has snuck into my body and is trying to make a getaway in a very emotional manner. That’s what I hate.

When you are having a regular conversation with your family doctor of twenty years and you are sprung into the cesspool of grief but continue to answer the questions about your deceased Dad.  The ones that are just basic information, not really anything unusual.  At the same time the reality of your own life is in front of you.  Your ailing mother crosses your mind and you continue to answer the questions trying not to let on.

Perhaps I am the only one that has been in a moment like this.  The place where your cracking voice doesn’t match the stoic expression of your face.  The one where you are anxious once again that your future might be like your parent’s in twenty or thirty years. I’m not frozen in fear, I’m just taken aback for a time being with the fact that my parent is dead.  My parent isn’t here to hold my hand, supply the hugs I really loved, and sign the cards “love your Dad”.  My other parent is aging and her body is giving out and the number of years with us is unsure.

All this makes me think of my own health, my own time here on earth, and am I living a life that is good.  Not a life with a large home, expensive car, name brand clothing, or cash in my wallet.  But a life that let’s others know who I really am, what I am passionate about, where I will go when I die, and that I loved.

I miss my Dad.  This week has been more difficult. I don’t think it’s because of the Christmas season.  (I only actually saw him like three times a year to be honest.) I just think it’s another phase of the process of grieving.  This week has been one of reflections in my mind of him holding my hand a few days before his death when I had to leave him after being by his side for so many days in a row.  His hugs. Oh his hugs, I shut my eyes and imagine them.  I’m afraid I will forget them.  I’m so very scared of that. The stories he told me are fading already, pieces of them at least.  My mind can’t hold them all. This is all mixed with the emotional things that occurred growing up that he created.

It’s like a hot bed of DNA that is just crazy.  A small smile comes across my face as I typed that last sentence. It’s just that.  A big mixture of things that occurred, emotions that grew from those things, and now I’m here swimming my way through the muck trying to keep my head above the grime.  This blog helps me do that along with memories, love from my spouse, and family.

I see the sunshine. The sunshine that has been given to me.  The song he sang when I was young.  The one that hasn’t left my mind.  The orange Ford pickup was the place of happiness.

I feel the grip of large hands. While sitting just a bit longer gazing out the window.  The ones that let the tears quietly fall upon my cheeks and didn’t wipe them away.  No words needed, just sitting with me letting me know it’s ok.

The “are you ok?” from my spouse when the doctor leaves for a moment. Then the joke about cheesecake not too long after sending us into giggles.  His hand on my leg in the car just letting me know he may not understand but he is present.

The “I understand tone” in my sibling’s voice when I share with her things of days gone by.  It brings me comfort to know I’m not alone.

This blog where I can write my rambling feelings, my thoughts.  The room where I can shed tears while typing away and it’s ok to just leave them in that room when I’m done.

Each day brings a new sunshine.  Each day may have alittle bit of the grime to swim through.  But I know that I will be ok.  I know that while I’m swimming through the muck, there is someone that will reach out to help me.  Someone that will hug me.  Someone that will guide me.  Whether it’s a family member, a friend, but probably most likely be God.

I will be ok and I will continue to let others know who I really am, what I am passionate about, where I will go when I die, and that I loved them.

 

Grace is a gift,

Julie

 

My Life . 2015

 

 

 

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