01/12/17

Sometimes, I get scared.  The only really close family I have left is my mom.  Grandma is dead.  Papaw is dead.  Dad is dead.  She has plenty of struggles with her health too, and what if something happens to her?  How could I go on living in a world where I would feel so alone?  I know I have a multitude of people who would be watching out for me even if something were to happen to my mom, but would it really matter anymore?  Would anything really matter anymore?

  I take pride in being so strong, but sometimes I feel like people only think I’m strong because I don’t let them see my weak side.  The truth is, I am terrified.  I don’t know if I’ve ever even completely admitted that to myself until right now, but I am scared to death.

 It’s almost like starting out of a video game with five vibrant red hearts indicating the number of lives you have, and watching three of them fade to a dull and stale pink.  You’ve still got those two extra lives, but if the second to last one disappears?  It’s all on you, and suddenly you almost wish for that one to just disappear too.  It’s less frightening to imagine everything fading away, rather than having to deal with the pressure of having that one, single life left.

I want so badly to be productive right now, but my brain will not shut down.  I need to sleep.  I need to have the will to want to go to sleep so that I can function in school, so that I can have a good day, so that I can have the will to keep on winning the war every day against my anxiety.

So, I write.  That way, even if for some reason, I am not able to win the war, I will have at least documented my battle.  I can be honorably discharged, and will only have to live with the battle scar of not being good enough.  In reality though, isn’t that the worst kind of battle scar of all?

Yesterday is Over Now.

9/19/15
Very early in the morning: 

Two years ago at this time, I was probably sleeping soundly in my bed. Little did I know what horrors the daylight would bring. Two years ago at this time, I was a little girl. I thought I was an "adult", but I wasn't...not really. I thought I had been through hard times, but nothing before would compare to what the next ten months would bring. My dad went to the doctor because he was having trouble swallowing. We didn't think it was anything serious, so I was not nearly as concerned as I should have been. Later that day while I was goofing off at home, my dad was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. My mom came in and told me...my dad was still out in the car. It was the most surreal thing to ever happen to me. When Dad came in, I gave him a long hug and sobbed into his arms like a baby. It hurts so badly even now to think of how strong he still was in that moment. His arms around me were just so...strong. I watched my dad turn from that man into to a lifeless body with glazed over eyes in a matter of months. I still miss him so much every day. I miss his hugs, the way he smelled whenever he cleaned up to go somewhere, and the way he would honk and wave every time we passed an SCT bus when he wasn't working. I miss the talks we would have, going bowling with him, and all of the silly nicknames he would call me. I mourn for the moments in the future that he will not be here for. My future husband will never be able to sit down with my dad, and ask permission for my hand in marriage. My dad will not walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. My dad will never get to experience being a grandpa to my future children. At times like this, his death is still very raw to me. Yes, I can be happy. Yes, I still enjoy life. Yes, it could have been worse. But that doesn't mean it didn't happen. I will always miss my dad, and I love him so much. I see him in people and things every day, and I can only hope that I always will. It's easy to take the people you love for granted, but I like to think that through my dad's diagnosis, sickness, and death, I have become much more cognizant of those I love. I appreciate all of the kind words people say to me, and all of the nice gestures. Now to end with a quote from one of my dad's favorite books: 

“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.” -Albus Dumbledore

Pictures found on Pinterest.

An Open Letter to my Dad: One Year That You've Been Gone

 

 

Dear Dad,

I never would have imagined a few years ago that I would be writing to you like this, especially at the young age of 23.  It's been a year since you've been "gone", but what does that really mean anyway? 

 

 I think about you every day.  In some ways, you are just as present in my every day life as you were when you were alive, if not more so.  I miss all of the little things you used to do that drove me nuts.  I miss the way you would say, "You look cute, Mol," every time I was dressed up to go out somewhere.  I miss the silent conversations we had, even during your cancer when we would be sitting in a room together, and a million thoughts would be going through both of our minds.  I wish we had had more time.

 

  I think of all of the horrible dads out there that are just fathers...sperm donors...and nothing more.  I think of how great you were.  I was your only kid, but you never made me feel like you needed anymore than me to be happy.  I never felt the way some girls do...that their father would rather have had a son than a daughter.  We played with cars and dolls, you saw chick flicks with me, and had long conversations with me about "Harry Potter" because I found the books too boring to read myself. 

 

 I think the thing that upsets me more than anything about you being gone is that you will never get the chance to be a grandpa.  You would have been one hell of a good papaw, and it almost sickens me to know that my future children will only know you as an old picture in a frame.  I will do everything I can to make them know you better than that.

 

  My eyes are tearing up as I reread the words I am writing because I still miss you as much as I did the day you died.  I honestly cannot believe how strong I was...staying around the clock at White Oaks, holding your hand and talking to you as I sat by your bedside.  I guess I was so numb to the pain at that point that it was hard to feel anything.  I wanted everything to be over because I could see you were in such pain, but I also felt very selfish for wanting it to be over for me too.  It was hard living in limbo, not knowing whether today was the day.  It was difficult to tell you time and time again that it was okay to let go, especially in the late night/early morning right after my birthday.  It hurt to see you not even be able to get up to go to the bathroom, and hearing you say crazy things because you were so completely out of your head. 

 

 When I look back on that short period of time at the end, it really upsets me, but those aren't the things that I remember most.  I remember how much you loved to drive the bus, and all of the times you recorded my theatrical productions, and the way your laugh was both obnoxious and endearing at the same time. 

 

You are not physically with me anymore, but spiritually you are with me now more than ever.  Sometimes I can feel your presence right beside me, but I would give anything to have one last conversation with you, or receive one last hug.  I love you, Daddy, and I know you're in a better place.  I just wish I could still have you here with me sometimes too. 

 

 Like I said though in a card to you last year, I would rather have had 21 (right at 22) years with you as my dad, than 121 (or 122) years with anyone else.  I love you always, Daddy.  See you around if you don't turn square.

Love,
Molly

xoxoxoxoxo

It Feels Like Dependence Day Without You

 

No red or white, just blue.

 

 

 

 

*Please note as of 6/20/2015
I realized, I must have taken the idea of "Six Words Saturday" from a blog I follow called "Show My Face" authored by Call Me Cate.  I apologize for making this sound like my idea when I unintentionally stole it from her blog.  I still plan on doing "Six Words Saturday", but please know that the idea came from Show Me Cate's "Six WORD Saturday".  Although I did not realize it, I apologize for not giving you credit in the first place Call Me Cate!  If you haven't already, please check out her blog by clicking on the link above!

 

 

 

On the Loss of a Parent

With Father's Day approaching, I decided I would write about something that I have not posted much about on here:  the death of my father.  My dad had a jovial demeanor, was an avid reader and writer, and loved to bowl.  He was only 68 when he passed away, this past July on a lazy summer afternoon.  He had been battling esophageal cancer for over ten months, and was more than ready to go after fighting a hard fight that just could not be won.  It was obviously a very difficult thing for my mom and I to go through.  Throughout the whole experience, we had friends who became family, and family who became mere acquaintances.  It is hard to lose a parent at any age, but I lost my dad literally just a few days after turning 22.  I think this is an especially hard age to lose a parent.  People expect you to be an adult (because you are), but then treat you with kid gloves at other times (because you are still so young).  It is a very peculiar thing.  With that said, I would like to gently point out some things you should do/not do, and say/not say to a young adult who has lost a parent, in my humble opinion for what it's worth:

• Often people try to compare the death of your parent to the death of their grandpa/grandma, aunt/uncle etc.  This is usually meant to be a genuinely kind-hearted gesture...a way for them to relate to the pain you are experiencing.  PLEASE never do this unless said grandpa/grandma or aunt/uncle has raised you and has lived in the same home as you for an extended period of time.  I would not have understood that  at all before my dad died, but losing someone - even someone you see daily - who hasn't raised you is just is not the same.
• Do not avoid a person like the plague who has just experienced a loss.
• If you do not know what to say to a person who is experiencing a loss, be honest.  Tell them you don't know what to say.  It is more comforting to hear that than to hear nothing at all.
• If you find out one of your family members or friends have been diagnosed with a terminal illness, don't ask if there is anything you can do.  Of course there are millions of things you can do, so just do.  I know before I experienced the loss of my dad, I asked the same question to other people, but it is really hard for people to ask for help when they really need it.  It's human nature to want to be independent and to not want to ask people for help.  Don't put somebody already going through a hard time on the spot.  Do not be over-bearing, but offer to drive places if needed, grab extra groceries, or just take a small part of your day to make a phone call or send a text.  It truly makes a world of difference just knowing someone cares.

That's all I have for today, but I hope you found this post insightful or helpful in some way!  Like I said, these are not things I would expect people to know who have not been through a major loss, so from someone who has, please just consider taking my opinions into consideration.  Thank you so much!  And Happy Father's Day...to all the dad's, foster-dad's, adoptive dad's, dad's-to-be, fill in dad's, and dad's in Heaven.  To all of you who are blessed enough to still have your dad in your life, give him a hug for me and take a little extra time to appreciate him.  :)

Letter to My Present Self #2

Dear Present Self, you are doing...okay.  You are trying to deal with the many losses that have occurred over the past year, and you are taking it day by day.  You have to remember that grief is a gradual process.  It is not something that ever completely goes away, AND THAT IS OKAY.  You put a smile on your face every day, and that is awesome in itself.  People continue to tell you how happy you seem, and though you may not always feel that way, I am proud of you for being able to always put on a brave face.  If you need to break down though, it's okay.  Just remember this quote by A.A. Milne:  

“Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” 

 

You degrade yourself far too often, but I know you are working on loving yourself each and every day.  Do not let your anxiety or depression get in the way of that.  You are doing good, kid.  Keep making the world a better place, because nothing would be the same without you in it!  Good things are coming your way...some that you already know about, and I am sure that there are even more that you don't!  Hang in there, and remember to live instead of just existing.

Love, 

Me

 

 

Souls of Christmas Past

Written:  December 4, 2014

Remember last year when we decorated Grandma's Christmas tree, as Dad sat and watched?

Now you are gone, Grandma is gone, Dad is gone, and I may not be gone physically, but my soul is fading fast.

Photo found on Tumblr

The Stages of Grieving

My cat looks up to the heavens,

As I fall down to my knees

 

I know that praying will not bring you back,

But perhaps it will give me some ease

 

Ease to go on without you

Ease to wake up every day

Ease to bring me some clarity, when I see no reason to stay

 

My heart knows you want me to be happy

I long to set my anxieties and depression free

But how can I even begin to cope without you standing beside me?

 

Someday I will walk down the aisle,

Wearing a pretty white dress,

Without my father to give me away –

To release me from my nest

 

I will be surrounded by people who love me,

But that will never replace,

The look I wish I could have seen, on your aging face

 

You will always be with me,

I know that to be true, but sometimes I selfishly wonder,

“How could you?”

 

How could you leave me here, on this dreadful earth?

How could you leave me here, as you rolled away in a hearse?

How could you leave me here, at such a pivotal point in my life?

How could you leave us here alone – your daughter and your wife?

 

But I have to stop and remember,

You would be here if it was in your control

 

I cannot begin to blame you, for being taken home

I cannot blame God

I cannot blame fate

I just have to rest assured that I will see you again someday

 

For that is the only source of comfort as I get up off my knees

I know you are somewhere driving a bus, though your time here has ceased

I know that you are my guardian angel, and that is what gives me ease