June 16, 2019, 8 days after my dad’s celebration of life and his birthday:

 It’s just another day. It’s a Sunday, following yesterday, Saturday. I am going to wake up and workout. Go about my day. And end my weekend, on a Sunday.  It’s just another Sunday. 

These are all things I told myself all last week. That it was like any other day. I’d battle sadness and grief and miss my dad like every other day because despite what the calendar says June 16 was supposed to be, it was still just another day, right? Boy was I wrong.

I woke up on Father’s Day, and I was okay actually. I wanted to stay in bed, sleep in with my boyfriend, but instead I found myself waking up to an alarm to go to the gym. I made myself breakfast. I drank my pre workout, pulled up to the gym, thinking, wow! look how good I’m doing today!…only for the gym to be closed. That’s when it hit me: it’s Father’s Day…and in my mind, to me that meant it’s been 9 weeks and 3 days since I lost the best man I’ve ever known, my best friend, my supporter, my go to, my rock, my everything…my dad. And it’s Father’s Day. And the gym is closed. F%^$  today! 

So I drive home, with my skin tingling and my energy soaring from the pre workout, annoyed, and I can feel my anger rising. My boyfriend who hasn’t even had time to drink his coffee yet, asks me what happened. As I began to ramble, the tears tart pouring down my face, and the anger/sadness overwhelms me. Here I was, just trying to be productive, take care of myself like everyone keeps telling me I HAVE to do(eye roll), and get a good workout in, and I couldn’t even DO THAT!

After spending the next 2 hours contemplating what we were going to do for the rest of the day (decisions are hard for me on good days now, but on bad days, they’re impossible), we got in the car and drove to the store. I get some more flowers to add to my garden for my dad, and we get a few things for a trip to the river. Then plans change. Great! Today is JUST GREAT!

The plans were good plans. Something still fun. Why can’t we just choose something AND DO IT?! Why does he have to work tonight..ON FATHERS DAY!? Why can’t anything work out? Why can’t he tell what I need?! Why is today EVEN A DAY?!

As you can imagine, this day just progressed into a whirlwind of emotions, mostly negative. I did get to go to my sister’s house, and watch my nephew play in the sprinkler. I bought my sister and me drinks from a coffee stand, and grabbed one for one for my dad too…decaf black, of course.  My boyfriend and I spent some time together. I went to dinner with my sister and two other girls my age that both recently lost their dad as well. All was fine, in retrospect. But I remember Sunday night thinking about how awful I had been to my boyfriend, to myself, and how sad it’d make my dad if he knew I was sad, and that the sadness was also making me angry and irritable. Honestly, I am sparing many details of how actually awful Sunday was, and all the disgusting thoughts of negativity, sadness, and anger I actually experienced. I’ll let your own mind wander and fill in the blanks. 

So to be honest with ya’ll…I felt myself going somewhere ugly on Father’s Day. I was thinking the worst, driving my own mind crazy, talking rude to people who didn’t deserve it, irritable, on edge, angry, and upset my significant other didn’t know what I needed when looking back, I didn’t even know what I needed. 8 days prior to Father’s Day, it was also my dad’s birthday (so adding to the list of firsts: his first birthday since losing him) AND his celebration of life. I have not felt ready to make a blog about this yet, although I will. But, before his birthday, I felt as though I was doing “okay,” or as okay as I could be all things considered. But 2 days after his birthday, I felt myself taking 10 steps backwards. Crying every day, sometimes uncontrollably, feeling hopeless, making myself physically sick from the grief, unable to work, skipping the gym, feeling depression I’ve never experienced, anxiety through the roof, and just completely overtaken by loss. So, on Father’s Day, all the sadness turned into anger, frustrating, irritation, and I just felt myself sliding somewhere I knew I shouldn’t be going…nor would my dad want me to go there. 

So, Sunday evening, I asked my sister to make me a grief counseling appointment.

I knew eventually I’d need to go. I think counseling is important, essential even. I have given friends and family the encouragement to go in the past, and I’d like to always attempt to practice what I preach. But the last 10 weeks, I just haven’t felt ready to make that step. And Sunday, I felt like I still wasn’t ready, but I doubt I’d ever be. So, I decided to be brave and ask for help from my sister, and make the appointment for me or else I’d never do it.

The following day, I went to my first appointment. I am not ashamed to write I have started grief counseling. I am proud actually. I would not say I am “excited,” because counseling actually terrifies me, and who wants to go to grief counseling? But I AM looking forward to helping myself in ways I could not do alone or in ways family/friends could not do. I owe this to myself, to my loved ones, and to my dad. In my opinion, that took courage and strength for me to step into that room…it’s only been 10 weeks, you think I WANT to face the reality of my new life? No. But I did it. 

So for anyone reading this who has chosen to go to grief counseling, I applaud your strength. For anyone reading this who has not taken that step yet but is considering it, I applaud you. And for anyone reading this who has not considered counseling, I still applaud you. Regardless of where you’re at, if you’re reading this…I applaud you, because that means you’re going through something tragic and ugly, this thing called grief, and today you did something for yourself still by taking time to reach out to me and share your emotions and grief with me. 

Looking back, I thought Father’s Day would look SO different. I thought I would be able to share memories of my best friend, I’d eat seafood (his favorite), wear bright colors (like he did), and smile in his memory (like I know he’d want me to). But grief is not so kind, is it? The reality of grief for me and my first Father’s Day was just this: it sucked. It was awful. I was awful. Grief hurts. Everything hurts. I don’t know a damn thing about grief. I only know what I experience, and how I get by. But I will be blunt and let ya’ll know that just because I write about grief doesn’t mean I feel like I am “good at this.” Actually,  I feel awful at it and don’t know how it will ever feel any lighter on my heart. Some days I can look at photos, or maybe I am feeling brave and will watch a video, and smile. Other days, I even take a glance at a photo and the pain is too much to stomach and I fall apart for the rest of the day. But if there IS one single thing I have learned about grief, and this heartbreaking process, it’s that you must let yourself do what you NEED, feel what you need to FEEL, in that moment, and not hold back. I have cried at work. In the store. In the car. At a bar. As I fall asleep, while I sleep, and I have also woken up crying. I have also felt numb. I’ve felt nothing on days I wanted to feel everything. I’ve felt anger, hopelessness, and confusion. And I am trying my very best to embrace whatever I wake up feeling, because every day is different. 

So, I encourage anyone reading this to embrace the way you PERSONALLY need to grieve. It could be similar to mine, or it could be different in every way. Maybe you lost someone/something very recent, or maybe its been 5, 10,  or 20+ years ago…regardless of what stage you’re at, be kind to yourself. This was my first of many going into the year, and I am going to let myself embrace those firsts like I hope you all do, no matter how ugly or beautiful that first may be. 

Blog 1: Physical Side of Grief

Hello, and welcome to my blog. Today marks 9 Thursdays, since losing my dad, & most wonderful man I’ve ever known. I have spent the last few weeks pondering the idea of a grief blog. The idea stemmed from a way to express my grief through words because I have been a writer my whole life and I’ve found expression through words comes easier than talking out loud. My dad also loved my writing and so often times writing makes me feel closer to him. But it wasn’t until I randomly would open up on social media about the raw reality of my grief, that I realized I wasn’t alone during the worst time of my life. Unfortunately, anyone who has experienced loss, I can relate to in more ways than those who have not. It’s just how it is. We think we could envision how much someone is hurting who has lost somebody, but only until we’ve felt that loss, do we actually comprehend.

So, I’ve spent the last few days thinking of the right topic for my first blog. Then I realized, how do you pick the “right topic” for something so awful? Something so detrimental, life shattering, and so heartbreaking? You simply can’t.  This blog is going to be raw. And by raw I mean, the ugly truth, unfiltered, anything goes, and I plan to be vulnerable.

Someone asked about the physical part of grief. I almost wanted to write something more “safe,” or less emotional you could say. But then I realized why would I do that? This is WHY I started a blog. To talk about the things no one else from the outside world understands, or knows how to talk about. This blog is a place to not be embarrassed, or not want to say something because you’re afraid no one will get it. I honestly feel like the physical part of grief, is a very raw part of grief that is often not understood by those not grieving. For me, it’s been so prevalent. Sure, I could say, “It hurts, a lot.” But what does that FEEL like? What does that even mean?

For me, I think the physical part of grief happened long before the actual day I lost my dad. I call this pre grief.

I know some readers out there have experienced “pre grief” in many ways…some their pre grief may have been drawn out for weeks, months, maybe even years. For some it may have been sudden, without even a chance to know what was happening. For some this may also differ in your own personal ways. For me, looking back, I think I dreadfully always knew I’d lose my dad during my young adult years, as he was more elderly. But what I did not expect was when it happened, and I also never knew how debilitating it would be. I thought I had at least 5-6 more years. When my dad got sick, I got another 4 and a half weeks with him.

During the first 2 weeks, I think I went into survival mode for him. I was his medical power of attorney, and I was on autopilot while he was in the hospital. When my dad went home, I thought we had made it. We were out of the hospital, he was doing better, and I thought we had begun the long road to recovery. It was not until about 5 days later, I realized how wrong I was, and I began to grieve.

I vaguely remember writing about grieving when I realized the reality of what was to come, I even made a grief playlist, and the unbearable thought of losing my dad consumed every bone in my body. I actually wrote down in a journal what I was feeling during this time: hyper aware of noise, headache all the time, stomach hurt from not eating so I’d eat just enough to make it stop screaming at me, but then I’d get nauseous from doing so, every joint hurt, every muscle was screaming, and insomnia like I’ve never experienced because sleep meant less time with my dad.

During those 4 and a half weeks, my body had been hit physically by pre grief in ways I didn’t know possible. I essentially lived in a hospital chair at first, then around the clock in his home. I quit working, my diet was crap when I even remembered to eat, sleep was close to nonexistent, recovery wasn’t in my vocabulary, my already poor health ceased to matter, the back pain I felt was excruciating yet numbing at the same time, and I often felt dizzy or in fog. But again, autopilot was my only gear and I don’t think I realized what was happening until some of my close friends asked me if I was sleeping, if I was eating, and told me they were worried about me. But again, I did not care. Nothing mattered but being with my dad, and doing everything I could to be the best daughter, efficient medical power of attorney, and keep my head afloat for him.

And then, when my body was functioning on about 1-3 hours (broken up here and there) of sleep a night, I had lost close to 9lbs, handfuls of hair came out in the shower, my eyes now sunken in, and I was in a constant haze…grief swept in like a thief on the evening of April 11, 2019…and took over my entire body.

I do not remember the next week, except that the legalities and necessary steps following a loss, are devastating to me. Necessary yes, but cruel. I wish I could say the days following I was able to mourn with my family, rest, reminisce. But for my family, that simply wasn’t in the books. The next week of packing things up, legalities, funeral homes, decisions, nightmares, flashbacks, and heartbreak are a blur that continued my physical part of grief. Somehow, 9 days later, I showed up in Fairbanks, AK leaving my life of the last 10 years in New Mexico, behind me.

The last 9 weeks have been a blur also. Here is what grief feels like to me now:
Some days, I am okay. In fact, my boyfriend makes sure not a day goes by I don’t smile. In the beginning, it felt painful to smile. But thanks to my family, friends, and boyfriend, I do in fact smile on a semi regular basis. I laugh, too. I am able to workout, most of the time. I wake up and go to work much to my dismay. But not a day goes by I don’t think about my dad. Honesty, I am not even sure a second goes by as my subconscious is constantly thinking about him. I get a lot of headaches. My hair still falls out in the shower, and I do my best to cover up my bald spots. Sometimes I binge eat, which has caused a weight gain, and other times I can’t eat at all. At night I am exhausted, but sleep is the last thing my brain will let me do. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. My memory doesn’t feel sharp. It’s hard to focus during a conversation sometimes. Weightlifting, something that is a part of me, hurts in ways I’ve never felt. And lately, I often feel like there is a weight vest on my lungs, causing breathing to no longer become a subconscious thing but rather something I have to think about doing. I also go through days of not crying, then days of nothing but crying. Also, my anxiety is out the roof.

Yet somehow, in this mess of physical grief, I am expected to go on. I must go to work, I have to wake up each morning, and I need to do things like brush my teeth. I am living each day in a mystery tornado, never knowing when it will hit me.

Now, let me make something clear. A lot of people have asked how I am able to talk about this so soon. And my immediate thought is, “I am not talking about, I can’t.” Because I honestly can’t talk about it out loud. It makes me sick to my stomach and doesn’t feel like me talking. So as I am typing this, with tears in my eyes, my stomach in knots, and anxiety weighing heavily on me, I hope those reading this don’t think this is easy. It is hard. It is disgusting. It is depressing. It doesn’t feel real. But this is the reality of grief.

So what I ask of you, readers, is to share with me your pain, grieve with me, and know we are all in this together. Because you all know, that despite all of this being said, we wake up each morning, and sometimes have to mask all of these physical symptoms, to simply make it through the day. Or maybe, just to make it 10 minutes before breaking down. It’s heartbreaking. But I often think of you all, and thank you all for being a support system I never knew I had. When I don’t want to wake up, I think of how many others out there are hurting too. That brings my strength. So, I appreciate you all taking the time to read my first blog, and if just one person read this and thinks  to themselves, “Wow, I am not alone,” then my job here is done for tonight.

The day we lose a loved one, is the day we join a group we don’t want to be a part of. In this club, we all have one thing in common, and with knowing that, know your are not alone in this awful club

I want this blog to be a place where I can connect with others grieving and those also grieving, can express their grief in a safe, comfortable, and nonjudgmental environment and know you are not alone in this awful club.

I plan to write a blog every Thursday, which is the day of week I lost my dad. Other than that, I have no guideline for myself for this blog, no rules, no real plans. My hope is that even if my blog reaches just one person, and helps them not feel alone, then my blog serves a greater purpose than I can imagine.