Feelings on Father’s Day

How am I doing this year?
I’ve been thinking about Dad extra amounts this week. More has reminded me of him. I’ve felt quieter and more subdued. I’ve been nervous about how today would be. 

This morning I’m trying to keep busy, but also keep in mind the knowledge that I can still celebrate Fathers Day. I have a wonderful Dad, that in twenty six years with me, gave me a wonderful childhood, advice and so much love. 

Looking forward, this time next year, we will be celebrating Father’s Day in a different way. We will be parents, caring for our gorgeous little boy or girl. A child far less fortunate than myself, in regards to parenting. Jim will step into that role. He will be wonderful. He is so much like my own Dad. 

Please don’t feel sorry for me, or any other grieving children today. Just promise me you will spend time with your own Dad’s while you still have the chance.

The same black dress

 

I didn’t think yesterday would hurt as much as it did.

But it’s still so soon. It seems like only a fortnight ago we had the whole family round for my Dad, and now this.

I woke up in the morning with a huge knot in my stomach. With gritted teeth,Β I put the same black dress on I had worn last summer. I painted on war paint. Heavy makeup so I couldn’t cry. Nothing could pass through my mascara. Like filling a hole. Like glueing my insides shut. Nothing would get in, nothing could seep out.

I got in the car.

I told Jim that I wasn’t going to cry. I was determined for this not to get under my skin. Not to reach me. I would build a wall where no emotion could pass. Self preservation at it’s finest. I didn’t take tissues in with me. I didn’t need them.

I sat through the Crematorium part of the ceremony. I was in a daze. My mind kept drifting away. I wasn’t concentrating on the words or what was in front of me. Like it wasn’t really happening. I stood up and walked away. I gave no-one eye contact. I refused to let them in.

I kept moving, flitting from one group to the next. Avoiding small talk, questions and conversation without looking alone. All a tactical ploy. All part of the plan. I swerved conversation to happy things and I dodged the curve balls.

It was working. My mascara hadn’t moved. I felt in control. Now onto the church.

I opened the order of service.

It hit me.

The same song. The same song as last summer. Sitting right there. How could I possibly sing that? How could I hear others sing that? I flicked through the pages to find other songs repeated. How could I get through this? I felt like I had been set up.

I decided I wouldn’t sing. I would stand crossed armed and closed mouthed. I would let the words pass over my head and then sit back down. no one would even know.

The organ introduced the first few chords.

My throat felt like it was going to burst. A single tear leaked onto my right cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. I just felt it trickle down my skin.

But then more started seeping out. This time from both eyes. I closed them shut and leaned into Jim. I felt my shoulders shaking and my fists tighten.

I lost it.

I cried more than I had since my Dad was diagnosed fifteen months ago.

All of my anger and sadness and confusion and frustration poured out of my body.

My sister passed me her tissue.

Why was I crying? I was so angry at myself. I wanted to be strong. I thought I could do it.

 

My eyes kept leaking right into the evening.

I was a mess.

Over nothing and over what happened then and now and everything.

I couldn’t even put into words why I was so overwhelmingly sad. Only that everything I had been holding in all this time was bubbling up and I couldn’t stop it.

 

 

It was lovely though. The day. Everyone being together.

 

I finally got home, slipped off my black dress.

And went to sleep.

 

I am feeling more myself today. I think I still have more to let out.

But that can wait for another day.

Not enough tears

I am sorry that I have run out of tears to cry.

You deserve far more than I can give, you wonderful wonderful man. 

You inspiring, eccentric, jolly and passionate man.

It has been an honour being your first born grandchild.

Your passion for family and the arts has made me the person I am today. 

You deserve rivers of tears and processions in the streets to celebrate all you have achieved, with your wonderful beautiful mind.

Sleep well. 

May you leave peacefully, believing whole heartedly that you are joining your wife and son in heaven.

One Year

So this little blog of mine is a whole year old.

I started it so I could sort out my feelings of things happening in my life at the time.

It has seriously been so useful to me.

When hearing of my Dad’s diagnosis, I didn’t know how I felt about anything. Everything was up in the air. I would flit from one emotion to the next. I needed something concrete to set my feelings onto. If I wrote them down they would become truth as I felt it in each moment.

And so ‘indigo_hart’ was born.

By writing and sharing I have frozen in time one of the most significant years of my life.

Everything I felt and thought is here. I can go back and read them anytime, and I often do.

It’s a way of checking how I am progressing on coping with living life and death.

It has also been doubly useful as it has been a way of sharing with all that wanted to know how I am doing without them having to ask me. It keeps people at a safe distance. You don’t need to ask and I don’t need to tell.

I like that I don’t have to say my thoughts out loud and yet everyone around me just knows, they totally get where I am at.

It has kept emotional injuries to a minimum. It has kept me in control.

I think that’s it.

This blog brings order and control into a situation I have no control over.

 

So it’s been a year. It’s been an incredible, catastrophic, terrifying and daunting year.

But, life’s challenges do not stop here.

Life keeps rolling,

as will this blog.

 

Saying Goodbye

It wasn’t as hard to leave as I thought it could be.

During my last two visits I have known my Mum has to sell our lovely holiday house in the alps.

it has been our holiday destination for the past 12 years. It holds so many memories for us.

but as I walk through the house, I remember it is just concrete, wood and plaster. There are no memories stored away under the beds. They are in my head. I can take them anywhere with me.

I feel much closer to my Dad there, I can’t help but think about him. Imagine him soaking in the sun on the balcony or getting giddy at the pizza restaurant. I need to remind myself that these are all memories, that are too precious to sell. I still have all of them in my head at all times. Photos and videos will help me remember.

Now it’s time to start a new adventure. In fresh and exciting places. Exotic places.

I am grateful that my Dad made the decision to sell the house upon diagnosis. It takes some of the pressure off of Mum. 

The decision to buy the house was lead by him, and so was the decision to sell.

I am so proud of Mum. 
You can find my short film of Saying Goodbye [in a minute] over on my YouTube channel.  

Click here to go to the video. 

❀

 

If I die before I’m 50

My brother recently told me that if he dies when Dad did, that he is currently middle age. He’s 23. He assured me it’s not a morbid thought, but actually quite thrilling.

I think he’s on to something.

Who said 45 was middle age? As if the majority of the population will live to see their ninetyth birthday. It’s ridiculous and not realistic.

If you live like you’ve got less days in front of you than you have behind you, how would you live differently?

How would you spend your time?

How would you measure your success in life?

Have you started your bucket list yet? Or are you saving that for your retirement, that you may never see.

I agree with my wise brother.

This isn’t morbid.

It’s exciting.

It’s thrilling.

It’s ‘go getting’

It’s the orange juice of life.

I wonder how you’ll live the rest of your days?

Counting it down? Or living it up?

Grief & Guilt

I am feeling mega guilty.

It’s way way worse than the grief.

I wasn’t expecting that.

You see as my loved ones struggle the daily struggle I feel these mixed feelings of guilt.

Guilty for not going round enough

But also guilty for worrying so much about others instead of living my life to the full

Guilty for giving hugs and kisses to Jim infront of my Mum

But then guilty for not savouring each and every moment I get to spend with Jim in this short life we have together

Guilty for being so distracted from work that I don’t think about any of this

But also guilty that I am at work and not spending precious time with my Mum and siblings

Guilty that how ever much I give is never going to be enough to stop the hurt and the pain that they feel

But also guilty for not giving more

I definitely could give more. But more to who?

To Jim?

To my Mum?

To my students?

To my friends?

To myself?

I can’t give it all.

I’m forced to make a daily choice between them all, like a constant seesaw.

Up and down.

Left and right.

I don’t know how to finish this. There isn’t really a conclusion. I just want to try and describe how it’s all settling. I had no idea about all this before, I wonder if I am alone in this feeling?

You guys are all so lovely and are always asking if you can help. If you do want to support us, please give us your time. Invite my loved ones along to things you are doing. It means I can spend time with another with far less guilt.

Thank you for everything πŸ’•