I’m going to be very real with you. I am very aware that I haven’t been posting regularly, like you were all used to. Truth is, my world was rocked so thoroughly and entirely, that I still find myself sobbing uncontrollably, wondering what the hell happened and when I’m going to wake up, because surely; this isn’t real. This painful experience has got to be an awful nightmare. I’ll wake up anytime now to everything being back to “normal”, sigh a huge sigh of relief and quickly call my Dad to tell him I love him and be comforted just by hearing his voice. Upon asking him a question he’ll ask me , “Well, do you want me to tell you how it is or do you want me to sugar coat it?”. I’ll roll my eyes and tell him, “Just tell me how it is, Dad. You suck at sugar coating things anyway!”. We’ll both chuckle and he’ll say, “Ya got me there, kiddo.”, and then proceed to give me a 25 minute answer to my question. The problem is, I keep waking up to the nightmare still very much in the present while my Dad, is not.

Dad had called me on Tuesday afternoon. I had just spoken with him. I remember it all so clearly. It’s emblazoned in my mind, I’ll never forget it. Wednesday morning my brother texted me “call me 911”. The next thing I knew my world had been turned upside down. Dad was being flown to the hospital on life flight. I fell to my knees and just started sobbing, trying so hard to understand how this could happen; I’d just spoken with him the day before! I don’t know how long I knelt there, furiously trying to keep from going crazy. I was overwhelmed with grief, guilt and anger. I sobbed uncontrollably, screamed out in pain and anger and prayed with everything I had in me.

I struggled through that day, feeling like a toddler just learning to use her legs. I felt numb and yet, at the same time, completely broken inside. I picked up the kids from school, told them that Grandpa was in the hospital, that the doctors had done everything they could but, he wasn’t going to make it. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t even remember the events of the rest of that day. I know that somehow I managed to get myself and five kids packed, contact the schools and excuse them for the days they would miss while going through box upon box of tissues. All I really remember doing that afternoon/evening is sitting on the swing in the backyard. I talked to Dad and I talked to God. I told them both exactly what I thought of this whole thing, I didn’t hold anything back. I sat there for hours, swinging back and forth, speaking my mind and crying.

We all know that, someday, we’ll lose our parents. At some point, we know we’ll have to go through the ache of burying someone who gave us everything they possibly could, out of love. Yet, when the time comes, the hurting is so deep and so much more intense than anything you could have possibly imagined, that you find yourself feeling very lost indeed.

We all cope with grief differently, and regardless of how we grieve, it takes time; some people need more than others. Right after losing Dad, there were many people who offered their condolences and encouragement that it would get easier with time. It’s been 19 months today, and I still miss him EVERY SINGLE DAY. Truthfully, that’s never going to change. I don’t think it ever gets easier; that’s just a bunch of hooey that people tell you when they feel awkward and uncomfortable and don’t know what else to say. I do think however, that somehow, your brain slowly comes to terms with your new reality, making the shock fade ever, ever, ever so gradually. But as for it “getting easier”…bullshit.

Long story short, I’m trying. I’m going to start posting weekly again. I honestly don’t believe that my Dad would want it any other way. So for him, for me, and for all of you….I’m back.

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