I say it's fine. It's not. I have to swallow the pain and hurt each day...I want the band-aid effect. Rip that f*cker off. I can't. I don't get to. Life has to keep going, work has to happen, and I have sh*t to do.
This has been a challenging week. Not only with "adulting" stuff, but the fact that our cats are affected by the inconsistent schedule, new smells, and stress. There was literally a fight between Cordie and Phoebe that happened twice within a matter of minutes on Tuesday. All because I stepped on Cordie's paw. Damnit!!!!! (I think Tuesday) and it was straight out of a cartoon- you have a literal rolling ball of cat. It was awful. I literally laid on the dining room floor, bawling my eyes out for a solid 10 minutes.
Now, Phoebe is having some possible bladder stress. An overnight stay at the vet clinic resulted in nothing. No irritation. No bacteria. But you can tell something is just not right.
Here's hoping that things calm down and she's not going back to the vet on Monday. It tears me up that she's having any discomfort. This is the last thing she needs. This is the last thing I need.
I'm having to live with high anxiety. Let's be honest here. I have f*cking anxiety. In general. I know it, and I've known it for awhile, and I've not been "officially" diagnosed...but cripes. I have days where I can deal with it better, but this is giving me a run for the money. Since the incident, my anxiety has been through the roof due to all of the unknowns. The waiting. The wondering if I'll f*ck something up. Now, there is a logging contract to worry about. Can I sell the property with the contract still in play or do I have to have the estate pay back over $8,000? I feel like I'm swimming in a tidal wave- and the reality is, I'm not a good swimmer.
Can we say a big F this? Can I just make this whole sh*tshow go away?
My dad's memorial service is coming up, and I just finished writing a poem and a reading. I don't think they are good. I'm afraid I will disappoint. Nothing I'm typing out is making me feel like I'm doing my dad justice. It hurts. I have expectations of my own that I do not feel I'm meeting. It makes me wonder why I'm even trying. I'm trying because I'm stubborn and damnit....he is MY DAD and this is the LEAST I can do.
The death of a loved one...you don't know what you're going to get. It's like a white elephant gift- maybe it'll be great or maybe it'll be crap.
I'm not at all saying my dad's life was crap- but I am seeing first hand some of his flaws. Flaws I believe he knew because he sheltered them from me. We are human, and as humans, we have flaws, and some of us hide them for a long time....and some of us choose to put blinders on and hope that maybe- just maybe- it will somehow not be the case.
I've learned so much about my dad in these past few weeks. It hurts that I'm gifted this knowledge of the man who is 1/2 of who I am. I've known that my dad was a good man (I hate saying was. It sucks.)
So many people have said so many nice and wonderful things. He was so well-liked, appreciated, and cared for by family and friends.
I've learned even further how damn talented he was- and I feel like I've always fallen short on the talent train. He and my mom can do SUCH amazing things...I mean, the man forged a f*cking knife!!! I come from talented parents, and when I step back, I feel like I have SO LITTLE to offer.
Then I hear how damn proud my dad was of me. How excited he was when I was getting married. How he talked about me all the time. I just...I can't. I can't even right now. Sometimes I wish I had asked more...asked more so I could know why. Why was he proud of me? Especially when I've felt for so long that I just don't measure up to how wonderful and talented my parents are.
Yes. I am hard on myself. Yes. I'm comparing.
I've had a couple okay days. Riddled with stress, but okay.
I've had some bike rides.
The first ride I saw a pair of geese.
Second ride I saw a female turkey.
Third ride I saw a doe.
Fourth ride I decided- I was ready to go fast. I didn't see an animal, but my heart was warmed to see Sweet William blossoming. My most favorite wildflower- the one I'd pick when dad would take me mushroom hunting.
Today I had two moments which touched my soul. A mountain biking friend who reached out to me, to see how I was, and then came back with a perfect pick me up. It warmed my heart and it's a great reminder.
The second, was my eye doctor's wife. She's going through an incredibly hard time and opened up to me a little on her hopes of being able to bike more. I feel for emotional and mental sanity and health. I totally got it. I'm in that spot. I'm not caring for someone who is ailing health-wise like she is, but the pain, stress, and sorrow are still very real- mine just happened abruptly and before it should've. Her's is long. I could see tears in her eyes. I told her I understood- how cycling can be so good for personal well-being. I'm in that same boat. I mentioned my loss. I hate talking about it. I'm so sorry that she has to deal with what she's dealing with. How bad things happen to good people. Whatever plan our lives sign on for...sometimes those plans suck. That's all I can say.
Besides accepting that my well-thought and super planned year has experienced great upheaval, I know that I will get through all of the crap at some point. I'm grateful for the family and friends I have, who have been amazing- open- welcoming- and helpful.
Until then, I'll get in what rides I can.
I'll try to accept stress with grace.
I know I was loved.
I know I am loved.
At some point, I'll genuinely be able to feel happy again.
I take comfort in the fact I am my father's daughter. Even tho he had his own set of issues, he still did his best to be a good human. He showed up. He lived. He did the best he could each day, regardless of what that "best" was.
I'm going to give my best, too. Whatever my best ends up being.