Our weather has been very cold with lots of snow. The frigid temperatures continue and thankfully we are having a break from precipitation. It's a chance to sit back and relax.
Two days ago was the sixth year anniversary of my Dad's death. I wasn't going to write about it on my blog because I didn't think it would effect me that much. Wishful thinking.
I started to feel panic and anxiety at the beginning of last weekend. I called my therapist and asked if she had a cancellation to call me. I told her it wasn't an emergency.
I could feel myself slipping away. By the time I got to her office I was gone - emotionally. I was flat in talking but felt rage inside.
She was going to hand me a glass ball to toss in my hands but I told her I felt like throwing it through the glass window. It was a way to get me reconnected. I was still checked out.
I told her the one thing I've never talked about was the morning at the funeral home. Actually, I haven't talked about the day he died, the viewing of his body, the obituary and the garbage. There were some things I kept to myself.
This year, it's all coming up like a volcano. I felt it would be good to write it since writing is my primary outlet. I could work on it each day then bring it to my next session. She agreed.
She made a few suggestions. She asked me to visit his grave. I told her there wasn't one. I suggested I could go to where my Dad and I used to fish if I needed to get out some anger. She thought that was a good idea.
She asked me to go to my safe place - a marina where I live - so I can soak in some good feelings. I told her I could try. Truth is, with the writing I would be doing, I'd be more inclined to stay indoors but I'm not closed to the idea.
When I got home, I started writing. I emailed my four closest friends to let them know what I'd be doing. Each of them gave me so much love and insight.
One of them wisely used the word "trauma." Another was horrified at the presentation of my Dad. Yet another loves my heart for doing this. The final one reminded me that this is another writing that is going to help people.
I found two pages from my 2011 blog and I've written two more pages. The toughest part of the writing will start today. I'm not looking forward to it but I know it has to be written.
Whenever I think about his death,
I also think about his life.
In the end, my Dad died the way he lived.
He cut himself off from his children,
from me three years before he died.
He chose not to see his other daughters,
sons-in-law or grandchildren.
He died a lonely, miserable, selfish man.
