Sadness Cometh and Goeth

 I’ve realized that I am no longer grieving.

I don’t know how long it takes someone to grieve. My father has been gone for three months now. But it feels like I lost him just yesterday. I wouldn’t know the difference if it weren’t for my mental calendar of time. And I’m glad time is passing because I really don’t want to live in the grief (Crying is such a physical exercise). It gives me permission to move on. 

It does not however make me love him or miss him any less. I get triggered by things that remind me of him, or remind me of his death. When I hear Van Halen I think of how much he loved that music and wish he was hearing it too (I believe he still can)). When I eat a tasty dish I think wow he would dig this, I wish he could try it. From ice cream to pasta (dad was a foodie). Things that make me laugh make me wish he was in on the joke. Somehow I think he is experiencing these things with me. That’s weird and crazy.

I can’t fathom that we didn’t exist until we born into a human body and that we cease to exist when we die. Now, THAT is crazy.

I guess that makes me spiritual.

I used to imagine what it would be like to lose a parent. I imagined having to deal with their death. It made me sad and worried for the future. And it is sad, really sad, because usually they are very ill before they pass. And that sucks. I’m so very grateful the cancer didn’t take my mother. It would be too much for me. But like I wrote on a bookmark, I am strong, I can handle anything. I strive to believe that when push comes to shove.

It is something mostly all adults will deal with in their adult life. People don’t talk about it a lot. It rocks people in different ways. Cheryl Strayed wrote that her mother’s passing shook her to the core; she went into a deep and haunting depression, expressing her grief through several sexual partners, even though she was married (I had a couple casual encounters during my alcoholism, but nothing like that. In other words, I didn’t seek them out (However my hunt for beer always led me to men)). I was really impressed with her story, like how you could turn such a bad experience into literary artwork. As they say “you can’t make this shit up”…truth is stranger than fiction. That’s the kind of reading that turns me on, no matter how unglamorous it is (My own nightmare essay would be a mix of Girl Interrupted and The Love of my Life). 

I went into a major depression when I ended my four year relationship with a live-in boyfriend. I started to spiral out of control and ended up in three mental health treatment centers. I cut my hair butch short and wrote a lot of poetry, remaining a victim of my addictions: mainly alcohol, and marijuana. Then two years later my sister dies, and I trade victim hood for slave hood under the wretched thumb of a tragic alcoholism (followed by anorexia). I survived all that. So yeah, I can handle anything. 

Those things shouldn’t have put me over the edge. If anything my dad’s death should have shattered me. It’s a big deal. The difference is, I’m not already addicted to substances this time, so I’m able to stay more in control. That’s a big difference. I don’t think you have to prove how much you love someone by losing your mind. I don’t think dad would like that, and i don’t think I deserve that (I think he’d be proud of my sobriety. He struggled with alcohol, too).

However I think it’s weird that I’ve stopped crying. I was crying daily for a while. My grandmother gave me an amethyst ring that she claims wards off grief (if anyone needs it it’s her, as she lost my sister and her husband). I’m prone to believe things like that. Though I doubt a small stone could defeat a persons natural reaction to death. It’s probably all in my head (like usual).

My dad was such a cool dude. I miss talking to him on the phone. I miss his sense of humor and his laughter. 

Sadness cometh and sadness goeth, and that is human nature.