Last night I had a cruel dream. I've had a few of these lately and they seem to be getting more frequent. In the dream I have a baby. The baby is mine. I hold it and feed it. I look at it, I lay it in a crib. I kiss on it and touch it. The baby morphs and changes shape, growing older or younger, getting chubbier or skinnier. All the while I am kind-of lacking in emotion about the whole thing. I can't feel joy or pain... nothing. It's just the actions. It's just me and the baby going through the motions. The baby isn't necessarily Wolfie, but in the dream I know that this is my baby.
I had these kinds of dreams all the time when I was pregnant. I think most women do, whether they've already had children or not. At the time I loved them and I thought it was indicative of a psychological connection to my little one I was carrying. I would wake up with a warm fuzzy feeling, rub my belly, feel Wolfie moving around or kicking and usually talk to Ben about how I just couldn't wait for him to arrive.
Now, it's bittersweet. While it's wonderful to get to experience these things in an emotionless dream-state, I eventually have to wake up not only to reality but to my true emotions. Why do the dreams continue in the face of my loss?
The dreams are somewhat connected to this other feeling that I have a lot now in reality. It's a perception I have of myself. Sometimes I just feel like I'm the "alternate" in the alternate universe somewhere. I feel like somewhere, far away, the "real" Brooke is taking care of Wolfie, getting spit up on, doing endless loads of cloth-diaper laundry and being a real mom. I feel like I'm the alternate. The ghost of the real Brooke. The side of the story that went wrong and split off from the main branch. In the air there lingers a scent... like a transparency laid over my actual life... that I'm supposed to be a mom right now. That I'm supposed to act and be different. This universe can feel the other one. It wants to even base decisions on it.
For a split second I want to say, "No, I can't do that right now because I'm a mom now and moms don't do that." This could be about anything from getting drunk to couch hopping. Childless, married women can do things that moms typically can't. I have a hard time remembering that I am still childless. My natural inclination is stuck to the alternative universe. I'm stuck on a ghost, a transparency of a life that wasn't to be. It was all planned out. The fantasies were all played out, too. Our plans and hopes and dreams and ideas of having a child.... all those things in reality come with things, responsibilities, chores, limitations.
It's hard to shake it. It's hard to accept that I don't have those things. It's hard to get drunk or go couch hopping because it just doesn't feel "right". Like, it's going against the natural order of things.
Get married.
Enjoy marriage.
Get pregnant.
Enjoy pregnancy.
Have baby.
Be a mom and do "mom" things.
Enjoy being a mom.
Raise family.
Enjoy family.
My alternate universe:
Get married.
Enjoy marriage.
Get pregnant.
Enjoy pregnancy.
Have baby.
Lose baby.
Total confusion. Plans derailed. Go back to step 2. Uh what?
Maybe the dreams are working hand in hand with this weird universe I'm in. I mean, the road's not supposed to be easy, is it? I keep feeling like one day I'll wake up from reality. I'll gasp for air, roll over and touch Wolfie as he sleeps in our co-sleeper, glance at my snoring husband, breathe a sigh of relief... "oh thank goodness it was all a dream" and go back to a peaceful sleep.
No no. I'm well aware that I'm living in reality, friends. It's just a strange thin feeling I have sometimes. Or maybe it's a fantasy. Or maybe it's a dream.
I have cruel dreams and I live in the original universe. I lost my baby and I'm dealing with that. My life was not meant to be so simple. I don't follow the natural order of things.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
conception
Dear Wolf, it was about this time last year that you were conceived. You were just a little simple-celled thing rapidly dividing and growing, releasing hormones and affecting the world around you. For three days straight my kidneys were aching and I knew something was up.
I was pondering all this stuff this past weekend. On Saturday Ben and I were stopped behind someone in traffic who had "PSLM139" on their license plate. I said "psalm 139" out loud because it seemed a little silly to me. It's not like I have the bible memorized or anything... and I found it a strange thing for a personalized license plate. The next day we went to church and wouldn't you know it? Psalm 139 was the first bit of scripture to be read in our liturgy for the day. I mean weird. Weeeee-urd.
This has only ever happened to me one other time in life. My friend Andrea and I were driving around many many years ago and I was complaining (as usual for those days) about being single. Unlike Atlanta, everyone I knew in Columbia, SC had already gotten married by the age of 23. So there I was, 25 and not a good man in sight. Anywho, I'd just finished a rant and we stopped behind this huge cadillac and the license plate read "BENNETT". That's my maiden name. Yeeeahhhh. I mean what are the odds of that?! Like God telling me to simmer down and enjoy being a Bennett for a while.
So I guess God likes to speak to me through license plates sometimes.
From Psalm 139:
13 For You formed my inward parts;
You covered me in my mother’s womb.
You covered me in my mother’s womb.
Even before I really knew what was going on in my womb, God did. A few weeks later two little lines would appear on a test strip and Ben and I would have a better idea of things, but in the beginning all I had was a hunch. A sneaking suspicion.
We made Wolfie with our cells and our bodies but God would do with his life what he would. And Wolfie did a lot with his little life.
As I'm getting back into the creative swing of things, and trying to get back to work I am struck with the power of creation. I am constantly in awe of the "life" my creations take on, how other people see them or desire them, or how they influence the world (however small a world that might be). Just like a baby they are conceived and delivered.
And so begins an eternal season of remembrance for Wolfgang... beginning with conception.
It also seems only fitting that until today I'd been too terrified to call the hospitals to make sure that our bills were paid. I had so much anxiety this morning about it that I was literally shaking while I gathered all the paperwork. I called around and somehow miraculously, all our bills were zeroed out... nothing to owe. The insurance has paid for it all. Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Praise God who cancels all our debts. Praise God who has fearfully and wonderfully made us.
23 Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me, and know my anxieties;
24 And see if there is any wicked way in me,
And lead me in the way everlasting.
Friday, July 1, 2011
lean on
here, you lean on me and I'll lean on you
the hours are long but our days are few
and troubles are heavy and so hard to bare
so let's lean together and learn how to share
here, you lean on me and I'll lean back
the pains are too many to ever keep track
and we can't decide how to act or deal
so let's lean together to help how we feel
here, you lean on me and I'll lean as well
the heartache is not very quick to dispel
and the past has some grievances left to atone
so let's lean together and not be alone
here, you lean on me and I'll lean the same
the world keeps on turning and no one's to blame
and we are but grains in a great sea of sand
we lean on eachother, but it's faith where we stand
--written by me, inspired by my husband. Photograph was taken by the wonderful and beautiful Que Brown, who was the doula who attended the birth. She took this picture while I was in the early stage of active labor and I just think the picture alone is worth a thousand words...but I wrote a poem anyway.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
an update of good things
First, thank you to everyone who prayed for me this past week. I explained in my last post that I was waiting (on panic-attack cliffs edge) on the results of a health-related test. The midwife called this morning with the results and...
...although my cells are "atypical" she said that it's not intense-enough to warrant further testing right now so what they do is have me come back in 12 months for my yearly like usual.
Praise GOD! I mean, balls to the wall, hands raised high, dancing like nobody's watching... puh-raeeeez heeeyum! On the phone the sweet midwife said, "Well, I hope your day is good now." Did she know how freaked out I was? My timid voice and deep inhalation of breath right before she got all the information out must have given it away. I am just absolutely so relieved that I don't have to end up in a strange OB's office, stripped from the waist down, being poked and prodded, biopsied, squinting in pain, fear filling my psyche and drowning out all logic and reason, and then have to wait AGAIN on the edge of a panic attack for what seem like days on end to hear those results.
Now, "atypical" cells still are not 100%... but I'm counting even the small miracles here. Apparently, from the research I've done, I am guessing that the cells were the lowest grade of abnormal, meaning it's nothing to be alarmed about yet, but yearly monitoring is a good idea. Even if I do end up eventually having to have those scary things done, at the very least it won't be *right now* just two short months after I lost my first child... just two short months worth of grief and sleepless nights... just two short months of thinking about death and having a hard time with that. It's too soon. Too soon for me to have salt thrown in my open wounds. Thank you God.
Also, more little praises, I got accepted into an awesome craft fair (which will take place in September in Greeneville, SC ... http://www.indiecraftparade.com/ ). I did this fair last year and it was THE best craft fair I've ever done in terms of sales. Although this may kinda sound like mundane business news (I mean, last year I did over a dozen awesome craft fairs), I still haven't even done one single one since the beginning of 2011. So, this will be my first for the year. Not being able to do them has taken a little toll on my ego. I looooong to be out in the public, peddling my wares. Makes the heart feel full of goodness. So, joy of joy, there is something actually exciting for me to look forward to. Having lost my mojo in so many ways, I'm so thankful to be emotionally interested in something since Wolfie passed. I've even come up with new designs! Behold!
Yay for life! Yay for my health. Yay for art! Yay for people wanting to have my art!
Affirmations are such a must for me right now. In the face of grief and depression they are like tiny little emotional Martha Stewarts, coming into my mind to make everything look nice and help me create a bunch of "good things".
So thank you all, from the bottom of my heart for praying for me. It worked! But regardless of the outcome of this test, your prayers have impacted me in so many good ways. In the midst of being on the verge of sad tears all the time, I am often on the verge of happy tears just thinking about all the amazing people who love and pray for us. (And for the record, I think that is the BIGGEST testament to the power of prayer... not just that we won the outcome we wanted but that my heart was affected by God's love regardless of the outcome).
Oh, the tears they will come, but why not let them be happy tears sometimes?
...although my cells are "atypical" she said that it's not intense-enough to warrant further testing right now so what they do is have me come back in 12 months for my yearly like usual.
Praise GOD! I mean, balls to the wall, hands raised high, dancing like nobody's watching... puh-raeeeez heeeyum! On the phone the sweet midwife said, "Well, I hope your day is good now." Did she know how freaked out I was? My timid voice and deep inhalation of breath right before she got all the information out must have given it away. I am just absolutely so relieved that I don't have to end up in a strange OB's office, stripped from the waist down, being poked and prodded, biopsied, squinting in pain, fear filling my psyche and drowning out all logic and reason, and then have to wait AGAIN on the edge of a panic attack for what seem like days on end to hear those results.
Now, "atypical" cells still are not 100%... but I'm counting even the small miracles here. Apparently, from the research I've done, I am guessing that the cells were the lowest grade of abnormal, meaning it's nothing to be alarmed about yet, but yearly monitoring is a good idea. Even if I do end up eventually having to have those scary things done, at the very least it won't be *right now* just two short months after I lost my first child... just two short months worth of grief and sleepless nights... just two short months of thinking about death and having a hard time with that. It's too soon. Too soon for me to have salt thrown in my open wounds. Thank you God.
Also, more little praises, I got accepted into an awesome craft fair (which will take place in September in Greeneville, SC ... http://www.indiecraftparade.com/ ). I did this fair last year and it was THE best craft fair I've ever done in terms of sales. Although this may kinda sound like mundane business news (I mean, last year I did over a dozen awesome craft fairs), I still haven't even done one single one since the beginning of 2011. So, this will be my first for the year. Not being able to do them has taken a little toll on my ego. I looooong to be out in the public, peddling my wares. Makes the heart feel full of goodness. So, joy of joy, there is something actually exciting for me to look forward to. Having lost my mojo in so many ways, I'm so thankful to be emotionally interested in something since Wolfie passed. I've even come up with new designs! Behold!
Affirmations are such a must for me right now. In the face of grief and depression they are like tiny little emotional Martha Stewarts, coming into my mind to make everything look nice and help me create a bunch of "good things".
So thank you all, from the bottom of my heart for praying for me. It worked! But regardless of the outcome of this test, your prayers have impacted me in so many good ways. In the midst of being on the verge of sad tears all the time, I am often on the verge of happy tears just thinking about all the amazing people who love and pray for us. (And for the record, I think that is the BIGGEST testament to the power of prayer... not just that we won the outcome we wanted but that my heart was affected by God's love regardless of the outcome).
Oh, the tears they will come, but why not let them be happy tears sometimes?
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Please pray for me...
I'm sorry to all the boys (and boys at heart) that read my blog but this next post here is going to contain some "women stuff" that make make you a little sqeamish. That being said, I really need some prayer for a health-related matter. Read on if "women stuff" doesn't bother you.
I saw the midwives today for my 6 week check-in. I was particularly nervous about this visit for a number of reasons.
1. Having lost my baby it's always hard going and being around (possibly) other babies and a waiting room full of pregnant women because they don't know my situation. Also, I was paranoid that the nurses that check me in (not the midwives) would forget who I was and ask me about the baby (which one did ask me if I was still nursing today... I had to tell her that my baby died under hushed breath).
2. Some of the things I had done during my pregnancy to help speed labor up (the cervical sweep and the insertion of the Cervadil) were particularly painful. I also had stitches removed just 3 weeks post-pardem that hadn't dissolved like they were supposed to. That was actually way more painful that I think it was supposed to be because I think (and I'm not quite sure because I couldn't see what was going on) my labia was clamped with forcepts so she could have a free hand to cut and remove the stitches. I think it was the clamping that hurt... I could feel the stitches coming out but that didn't really hurt. These were all performed by a midwife there (who has left to join another practice now since that visit I had 3 weeks ago) but I was nervous that anything else would hurt badly as well... and unfortunately for this midwife, I've associated her with being in lots of pain. Like I said, she was no longer there... and my visit today was totally pain-free...but that might have only been due to the fact that I was only having a routine thing done. Which leads me to the last point (the routine thing)...
And here's the biggest reason I was nervous...
3. Back in September I had a pap smear during one of my first pre-natal visits. The results came back abnormal. When results of a pap come back abnormal, they write "ABNORMAL" in big bold uppercase font down the side of a whole sheet of paper. It's daunting, even if it is common.
Any who... turns out I am HPV negative. Which is a great thing because being HPV positive would have greatly increased the chances of these abnormal cells to being cancerous. I'm negative but that doesn't mean they couldn't be bad. I mean... Wolfie, Ben and I have all just become statistics (rare statistics) and I'm not about to take any "low odd" scenario for granted ever again.
So I had another pap smear today to test to see if those abnormal cells are still there. According to Margaret (my midwife), there's about a 50/50 chance that the fact that I had a vaginal birth, and the cervix was stretched and constricted and had increased blood flow, that these abnormal cells may disappear all on their own. But there is a 50% chance that they're still there.
If they're still there, I will have to be referred to another practice to have another procedure done to check the abundance of these abnormal cells on my cervix and depending on what they see, possibly have a biopsy done.
Sigh.
I need your prayer. Please pray that the results of this latest pap come back normal. Please pray that I don't have to be poked and prodded anymore.
But most of all... please pray that I won't have ANOTHER reason to be filled with worry, fear and anguish. I am just so sick of all the stress. My emotional wounds are still fresh...please pray I don't have to add "worrying about cancer" to that burden.
Please pray.
I saw the midwives today for my 6 week check-in. I was particularly nervous about this visit for a number of reasons.
1. Having lost my baby it's always hard going and being around (possibly) other babies and a waiting room full of pregnant women because they don't know my situation. Also, I was paranoid that the nurses that check me in (not the midwives) would forget who I was and ask me about the baby (which one did ask me if I was still nursing today... I had to tell her that my baby died under hushed breath).
2. Some of the things I had done during my pregnancy to help speed labor up (the cervical sweep and the insertion of the Cervadil) were particularly painful. I also had stitches removed just 3 weeks post-pardem that hadn't dissolved like they were supposed to. That was actually way more painful that I think it was supposed to be because I think (and I'm not quite sure because I couldn't see what was going on) my labia was clamped with forcepts so she could have a free hand to cut and remove the stitches. I think it was the clamping that hurt... I could feel the stitches coming out but that didn't really hurt. These were all performed by a midwife there (who has left to join another practice now since that visit I had 3 weeks ago) but I was nervous that anything else would hurt badly as well... and unfortunately for this midwife, I've associated her with being in lots of pain. Like I said, she was no longer there... and my visit today was totally pain-free...but that might have only been due to the fact that I was only having a routine thing done. Which leads me to the last point (the routine thing)...
And here's the biggest reason I was nervous...
3. Back in September I had a pap smear during one of my first pre-natal visits. The results came back abnormal. When results of a pap come back abnormal, they write "ABNORMAL" in big bold uppercase font down the side of a whole sheet of paper. It's daunting, even if it is common.
Any who... turns out I am HPV negative. Which is a great thing because being HPV positive would have greatly increased the chances of these abnormal cells to being cancerous. I'm negative but that doesn't mean they couldn't be bad. I mean... Wolfie, Ben and I have all just become statistics (rare statistics) and I'm not about to take any "low odd" scenario for granted ever again.
So I had another pap smear today to test to see if those abnormal cells are still there. According to Margaret (my midwife), there's about a 50/50 chance that the fact that I had a vaginal birth, and the cervix was stretched and constricted and had increased blood flow, that these abnormal cells may disappear all on their own. But there is a 50% chance that they're still there.
If they're still there, I will have to be referred to another practice to have another procedure done to check the abundance of these abnormal cells on my cervix and depending on what they see, possibly have a biopsy done.
Sigh.
I need your prayer. Please pray that the results of this latest pap come back normal. Please pray that I don't have to be poked and prodded anymore.
But most of all... please pray that I won't have ANOTHER reason to be filled with worry, fear and anguish. I am just so sick of all the stress. My emotional wounds are still fresh...please pray I don't have to add "worrying about cancer" to that burden.
Please pray.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
neglect
Dishes wait one to two days in the sink. The laundry bin overfloweth. Dust and dog fur balls collect in the corners that are bigger than your fist. The toilet desperately needs scrubbing. The fridge finds itself fairly empty these days as I'm often uninspired to shop for food let alone cook it. My work (sewing) is literally moving at a snails pace. I can't even be bothered to shower as often as needed or make my hair pretty or put on makeup or anything either. If it weren't for a few friends who call and schedule things to do with me throughout the week, I doubt I'd bother getting out of my pajamas (or even changing them day to day) for days on end. I would probably literally just mull around the house, a stinky mess...and I'm talking about myself, not the house.
Now some of you might say, "You've been through a lot. You need to take it slow and take your time with things. Don't stress the little things and focus on yourself and feeling better. No need to stress yourself out with a to-do list or deadlines."
But sooner or later "taking it easy" turns into neglect.
I think I've reached the peak of the mountain of neglect and I'm slowly working my way down (I hope). I'm chipping away at a long to-do list... but trying not to stress out about it.
In some ways it makes me feel better to work and accomplish things. To clean and feel fresh and new after a shower. But to be honest, it's not much of difference to me compared to how I feel just wallowing around not doing much at all really. You see, I've lost my mojo. I used to be so excited about so many things. I used to have desires. I was a woman with a plan. A woman who knew what she wanted. Now, not so much. Most nights, I couldn't even tell you what I wanted for dinner even if money were no object...I've nearly lost the ability to be excited about anything. I feel numb. But I hate to feel numb. I know I was so much better-off full of life and color.
I am taking some strides to get there though. This week I went out and spent time with friends. One-on-one little get-togethers are best for me right now... and I am glad for some great friends to spend time with out and about. I even visited a friend and new mom (and her baby which is only a few weeks old). We sat and talked for a bit while she held the baby and I was really happy and peaceful about it all. It was making me depressed to not to be able to see my new-mom friends. I'm glad I did that... I'm glad I took a few little steps and got to see her.
Tonight I am also going to apply for the first craft fair of the fall season. It's a big thing for me even to apply, honestly. It's hard to imagine getting down to the nitty gritty of all that hard work just like last fall... but it has to be done. I CANNOT be a little housewife. I have to make money or we won't be able to survive. Yes, it's stressful. Very much so, actually. But I have to do it.
It was nice being able to neglect things for a little while, I have to admit. Maybe from time to time I will neglect certain things. That's fine, I'm sure. But in general, I think it's time to get back to the world. To get back to living. To work and move and feel productive. To make things and do things and not feel like such a waste.
Now some of you might say, "You've been through a lot. You need to take it slow and take your time with things. Don't stress the little things and focus on yourself and feeling better. No need to stress yourself out with a to-do list or deadlines."
But sooner or later "taking it easy" turns into neglect.
I think I've reached the peak of the mountain of neglect and I'm slowly working my way down (I hope). I'm chipping away at a long to-do list... but trying not to stress out about it.
In some ways it makes me feel better to work and accomplish things. To clean and feel fresh and new after a shower. But to be honest, it's not much of difference to me compared to how I feel just wallowing around not doing much at all really. You see, I've lost my mojo. I used to be so excited about so many things. I used to have desires. I was a woman with a plan. A woman who knew what she wanted. Now, not so much. Most nights, I couldn't even tell you what I wanted for dinner even if money were no object...I've nearly lost the ability to be excited about anything. I feel numb. But I hate to feel numb. I know I was so much better-off full of life and color.
I am taking some strides to get there though. This week I went out and spent time with friends. One-on-one little get-togethers are best for me right now... and I am glad for some great friends to spend time with out and about. I even visited a friend and new mom (and her baby which is only a few weeks old). We sat and talked for a bit while she held the baby and I was really happy and peaceful about it all. It was making me depressed to not to be able to see my new-mom friends. I'm glad I did that... I'm glad I took a few little steps and got to see her.
Tonight I am also going to apply for the first craft fair of the fall season. It's a big thing for me even to apply, honestly. It's hard to imagine getting down to the nitty gritty of all that hard work just like last fall... but it has to be done. I CANNOT be a little housewife. I have to make money or we won't be able to survive. Yes, it's stressful. Very much so, actually. But I have to do it.
It was nice being able to neglect things for a little while, I have to admit. Maybe from time to time I will neglect certain things. That's fine, I'm sure. But in general, I think it's time to get back to the world. To get back to living. To work and move and feel productive. To make things and do things and not feel like such a waste.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
fathers
As Fathers Day approaches I am filled with thoughts about my dad.
Since everything with Wolfie has happened I've had two life experiences that play themselves over and over again in my mind. It's fair to say that my mind is nearly obsessed on them... re-playing them time and time again when the rest of the world is quiet. One is this fresh and vivid clip of Wolfie's birth. The other is an older clip... but yet somehow still preserved... of my father's death.
My dad, after battling like a warrior for years with Parkinson's disease and early onset Alzheimer's, went to be in heaven on April 9th of 2005. He was only 69 when he died and I was only 24. I'd only even been a real believer in God for a year before he passed.
My dad, until he got really sick, was a chubby, kind-of jolly and half-serious fellow. Always whistling and singing like a songbird. He enjoyed being in the sun and his leathery, mole-covered, usually red hide bore the proof of that. His hair had been gray-ish from the day that I could ever remember, and the hairs around his neck curled up and out like cherub's locks. His beard was almost always salt and pepper - mostly white. After he came inside to cool down from being in the hot sun, spooning leaves out of our pool on a warm summer afternoon, he'd sit in his special spot on our sectional sofa (this was Dad's spot, nobody else could sit there). And when I was three I'd climb onto his lap, breathing in the scent of Banana Boat tanning oil, as if he'd taken a bath in it. I'd lay on his arm and investigate his chest hairs. They were white and gray... he called them his "dogwood trees".
It's a long story (isn't it always?) but I'd had a particularly rocky teenage life...the kind that kept me, sadly enough, mostly somewhat "emotionally estranged" from my parents. That's the best way I can put it. Emotionally estranged. Such that when his diagnosis came while I was in college, I didn't find it urgent enough to visit my parents back home as often as I *really* should have. After all, as much as I was concerned, my family didn't hug much. We weren't big on kissing and touching. I just didn't feel as "connected" to them as I do now... now that I know from Jesus what love really is...and now that I know from life what loss really is.
When he passed I was at his bedside in the hospice along with my family. Once the moment of his transition had come and gone, I hung my head and tried to pray. But my mind was blank. I couldn't muster up the mental words. Nothing came.
Then it began, first slow like a creeping in on my body and mind and then rushing over me like a strong current... were thoughts of childhood and moments I'd long since forgotten of my father and I.
The time he surprised me and picked me up from school, in his polyester slacks waiting for me and leaning against his beige towncar parked right in front of the school buses I hated to ride. The time I left my Barbie horse in the backyard on the ground and he stepped on it. I cried and he scolded me for leaving it there but I knew he was right. The feel of his sweaty neck as I clung to it riding piggy-back somewhere. The sight of him floating in waterspace through my foggy snorkeling goggles, pointing at a sanddollar in 4 feet of crystal clear Florida ocean water. The stinging smell of his cologne and the excitement that filled the air as I waited for a babysitter to arrive, mom and dad going out to do something fancy by themselves.
All of these and more, many many more, flooded my mind. Like when someone says "My life flashed before my eyes." Yes, that's what it felt like. Only it felt like something being pulled through me. Something combing right through the strings of my heart... something that wasn't from within me.
As soon as it stopped I felt peaceful. I realized I'd been given a gift. God had sent me back all the good times all at once for me to hold tight to. The warm arms of all those memories wrapped me generously. I didn't cry then for my father's death. It would be months later before I would cry.
I think about Wolfie and Ben. I know what kind of father Ben is. He's the kind of father that would create a lifetime of those good memories. The kind of memories that wrap you in comforting arms when you need them like I had with my dad. It's besides the point that he didn't get the chance to create those with Wolfie. It doesn't disturb the fact that he is that kind of father...the best kind.
I'll be celebrating Father's Day a little differently than most of you. But the sentiment is the same. Love on your father, and show him love. Tell him you love him. Spend some time with him and enjoy the memories.
Since everything with Wolfie has happened I've had two life experiences that play themselves over and over again in my mind. It's fair to say that my mind is nearly obsessed on them... re-playing them time and time again when the rest of the world is quiet. One is this fresh and vivid clip of Wolfie's birth. The other is an older clip... but yet somehow still preserved... of my father's death.
My dad, after battling like a warrior for years with Parkinson's disease and early onset Alzheimer's, went to be in heaven on April 9th of 2005. He was only 69 when he died and I was only 24. I'd only even been a real believer in God for a year before he passed.
My dad, until he got really sick, was a chubby, kind-of jolly and half-serious fellow. Always whistling and singing like a songbird. He enjoyed being in the sun and his leathery, mole-covered, usually red hide bore the proof of that. His hair had been gray-ish from the day that I could ever remember, and the hairs around his neck curled up and out like cherub's locks. His beard was almost always salt and pepper - mostly white. After he came inside to cool down from being in the hot sun, spooning leaves out of our pool on a warm summer afternoon, he'd sit in his special spot on our sectional sofa (this was Dad's spot, nobody else could sit there). And when I was three I'd climb onto his lap, breathing in the scent of Banana Boat tanning oil, as if he'd taken a bath in it. I'd lay on his arm and investigate his chest hairs. They were white and gray... he called them his "dogwood trees".
It's a long story (isn't it always?) but I'd had a particularly rocky teenage life...the kind that kept me, sadly enough, mostly somewhat "emotionally estranged" from my parents. That's the best way I can put it. Emotionally estranged. Such that when his diagnosis came while I was in college, I didn't find it urgent enough to visit my parents back home as often as I *really* should have. After all, as much as I was concerned, my family didn't hug much. We weren't big on kissing and touching. I just didn't feel as "connected" to them as I do now... now that I know from Jesus what love really is...and now that I know from life what loss really is.
When he passed I was at his bedside in the hospice along with my family. Once the moment of his transition had come and gone, I hung my head and tried to pray. But my mind was blank. I couldn't muster up the mental words. Nothing came.
Then it began, first slow like a creeping in on my body and mind and then rushing over me like a strong current... were thoughts of childhood and moments I'd long since forgotten of my father and I.
The time he surprised me and picked me up from school, in his polyester slacks waiting for me and leaning against his beige towncar parked right in front of the school buses I hated to ride. The time I left my Barbie horse in the backyard on the ground and he stepped on it. I cried and he scolded me for leaving it there but I knew he was right. The feel of his sweaty neck as I clung to it riding piggy-back somewhere. The sight of him floating in waterspace through my foggy snorkeling goggles, pointing at a sanddollar in 4 feet of crystal clear Florida ocean water. The stinging smell of his cologne and the excitement that filled the air as I waited for a babysitter to arrive, mom and dad going out to do something fancy by themselves.
All of these and more, many many more, flooded my mind. Like when someone says "My life flashed before my eyes." Yes, that's what it felt like. Only it felt like something being pulled through me. Something combing right through the strings of my heart... something that wasn't from within me.
As soon as it stopped I felt peaceful. I realized I'd been given a gift. God had sent me back all the good times all at once for me to hold tight to. The warm arms of all those memories wrapped me generously. I didn't cry then for my father's death. It would be months later before I would cry.
I think about Wolfie and Ben. I know what kind of father Ben is. He's the kind of father that would create a lifetime of those good memories. The kind of memories that wrap you in comforting arms when you need them like I had with my dad. It's besides the point that he didn't get the chance to create those with Wolfie. It doesn't disturb the fact that he is that kind of father...the best kind.
I'll be celebrating Father's Day a little differently than most of you. But the sentiment is the same. Love on your father, and show him love. Tell him you love him. Spend some time with him and enjoy the memories.
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