It’s been quite a long time since I’ve published a blog post~ February 24 was the last. As I consider life over these past months, I’m left with one word- exhaustion. Physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually- I’m just plain tired. And for the first time in the history of me, I’m okay with that.
Let me back up a bit so ya’ll can catch up. In March 2013, my father was diagnosed with throat cancer. Just prior to the diagnosis, my sisters and I had undertaken a very diligent, organized and intentional care-taking regimen involving both of our parents. Much- if not all- of the week to week appointments were the arena my older sister chose; my younger sister tended to many day to day details; she’s an extraordinary caseworker. Given limited resources, I made the three hour drive one weekend a month loaded down with healthy meals from my freezer stock. My reasoning was that at least I could control what was available for them to eat. After the diagnosis and subsequent surgery (which found the tumor inoperable as it had wound it’s way around the windpipe), appointments with doctors, for chemo and radiation- they all kicked into high gear. Beth, Barb and I knew we couldn’t do it all on our own, so we summoned a team. For a couple of months I worked and slept with my phone at my side- the three of us were tethered by text and email messages with constant updates to each other.
In the middle of this darkness, a ray of light also entered my life- I fell in love. While I suppose that timing is never “perfect” for meeting a partner, this was truly an unlikely time. Despite the amount of strength I know I possess, the gratitude I’ve felt for the arrival of another rock to stand beside me is immense. His home became a refuge where I could go to attempt relaxation; weekends, when not on the road, I could be found at Ronnie’s Spa. When the time came, he was a strong shoulder to lean on as my son honored his grandfather by singing “Amazing Grace” at the memorial service.
If you know my father, you know that life on anyone’s terms other than his own just won’t do. Chemo and radiation treatments didn’t last long- he didn’t like being “zapped” and feeling like a limp noodle. Though never given a prognosis, we saw a quick deterioration; at times we (Beth) was able to rally his spirits- usually involving a glass of chablis- but the bursts were short lived. The troops gathered to celebrate Dad’s birthday on June 2; then two weeks later, on Father’s Day, he passed.
While putting together this post, I found the following dated June 11, a week before his death: “I sat down last night to write a blog post. Okay honestly, I sat down last night to write an obituary, but wanted to procrastinate by writing a blog post. In the end I chose to do my duty as the “daughter who writes” and put together a first draft for my father to edit. You see, my father is dying of lung cancer. His life is pretty touch and go these days, but yesterday was one with much clarity and lucidity. In a pretty non-stop fashion I received text messages from my younger sister who sat by his side. I imagined the smiles and laughter in the living room where the two of them were sitting approximately 200 miles south. One message read something like, “All grand kids mentioned in obit. US Army 1954- 1956. Grad WMU 1957. Lawson YMCA, First National Bank then started in real estate in 1965.” What a surreal experience to transcribe these life events. When I received the text that read “Picture should be the one of him in red plaid sweater”, I literally laughed out loud. Of course my father knows just what he wants; he always has. Like Carlo Rossi by the jug. And chocolate. I am truly my father’s daughter.”
Driving north on Father’s Day, I experienced my first anxiety attack- while driving 70 mph+ on 131. I made it about ⅔ of the way to Traverse City before I had to pull over. Grateful to get off the highway safely and into the nearest gas station, I called My Rock, my sister and my daughter. Humility isn't something I do well; with no other choice I told them that I needed help. I cried and napped on and off for two hours as I waited for them to arrive. And they did.
I’m pretty certain that there is no “normal” way to grieve; each individual brings their own set of stuff to that table. Me being me, decided to overload the table. In July I decided to take a job transfer to the Lansing area- the timeline for working full-time in the new office was the end of August. I set about doing the stuff necessary- both personally and professionally- to prep for the move; the big question was “What about the house?” Bottom-line- I still own it. After finding an apartment in the Lansing area, I spent the months of August and September driving between the two offices weekly. Interestingly, the driving stuff was complicated by vertigo- a lovely residual effect of the increased anxiety. I had to ask for help again- The Rock was there, as was my boss. Together we all worked it out. Again, with the humility and acceptance. And added learning that I don’t always have to have all the answers.
So here we are, the first week of October. I’m sitting at the kitchen counter-top in my little one-bedroom 500 square foot apartment. Alone, well, except for the cat (that’s another story). The vertigo, though not all gone, has drastically diminished so I’m able to drive safely. From time to time I find myself crying; why doesn’t really matter. I just do it. Because to not to would mean imploding. And I’m writing again- that’s always good.
I'm often asked by folks that I meet here why I’d want to leave “paradise”. My answer? Because I could. For the first time in over 25 years I was able to make a decision where I wasn't compelled to consider what was best for four other people- my offspring. As a matter of fact, they were by-in-large supportive of it being my turn for an adventure. You know what’s really funny? I find myself doing the same things here in Haslett that I did in Traverse City; I go to work, go to yoga, shop and cook. Same stuff, new people and places. It’s a surreal mix of old/new. As my dear friend and yoga teacher recently reminded me, it’s 99% mental. I think that means that it is what we decide it will be. And I’ve decided that it’s time for some rest, along with another box of tissues.
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