Dad...

So, I lost both of my parents very young. You know my mom died when she was 48 years old and you know how. You know my dad died 5 years later. He was 53. But, I haven’t yet talked about how he died. Some of you might be assuming suicide since there were so many attempts and in a way, you might be right. However, suicide is not what is on his death certificate.

In August 2006, we took my dad back to the hospital. He was having suicidal thoughts again so we took him back for yet another 72 hr hold so that he could be assessed. A couple of days in, Dad calls and asks me to stop by earlier than normal so that I can sit in on his doctors appointment. This request wasn’t all that unusual. He had asked me to make arrangements to hear what the doctors had to say before. We usually talked about stuff like medication or tips to help stabilize him and once the psychiatrist tried to reprimand me for taking too much control – that my dad couldn’t learn to take care of himself unless I relinquished some of it (I usually laughed at him when he said that in total disbelief considering that all of this control was what was keeping him as stable as he could be at that point! They didn’t even have his meds stabilized and I was supposed to loosen my grip? Seriously!). I made it to the hospital prepared to have this battle yet again with his psychiatrist but when I got there, there was another doctor in the room. An oncologist explained that they didn’t like my dad’s blood work so they ran further tests and found it. Cancer. As if a bipolar father already completely dependent on you wasn’t enough. We now had a new diagnosis; non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

I retreated. From everyone. I pulled back my mental armies and tried desperately to regroup but for the first time in my life, I couldn’t find the strength to prepare for this new battle. My armor had holes in it and I had nothing left. Luckily, I am fortunate enough to have people in my life that wouldn’t let me retreat for very long. Jen called every day to talk to me about nothing and everything all at once and I eventually found my groove again. My husband did a lot of yelling to try and snap me out of it and I’m not really sure what worked but little by little I was able to find my voice again and I was yelling right back at him. I got my fight back and started coordinating appointments for his recovery and my world began to include chemotherapy and appointments about bone marrow transplants. And I don’t know how I would have got through it all without Linda and Steve - the 2 people that helped me out the most logistically with dr’s appointments and chemo and hospital visits. I could thank them every day for the rest of my life and I’m not sure it would ever be enough.

In the end though, having my fight back wasn’t good enough. It really wasn’t me that had to do the battle and my dad lost his fighting power the second my mother died. He just didn’t have it in him and only went along with it. He had his chemo because I told him to, blood transfusions because I said so, took his meds (both cancer ones and bipolar ones) because I sat there and made him do it and told me he wanted to live because he thought it was what I wanted to hear. It didn’t matter how hard I fought because he had already made his choice. Cancer was his suicide and less than a year later he was gone. Reunited with mom – the one person he just couldn’t live without.

Are we nuts?

We did it! We took the plunge. It’s been a couple of days now and it’s been crazy and exhausting and wonderful. I might be a little bit crazy considering just how hectic the last 7 years have been but I think we’re ready for the commitment. Ready for the companionship, the training, the responsibility and the unconditional love.

Bella is living in constant fear for the lives of her beloved Webkinz. Running herself ragged making sure none of them are ever on the floor and that they are all safe and sound in her room. She’s having these awful daydreams of them being torn to shreds and their fluffy entrails tossed around the room. And, let’s be honest. She can’t keep this up forever. She might actually lose one or two! Sarah figures she’s safe. Most of her beloved possessions are drawings she’s worked incredibly hard on. But let’s face it. I’m not sure all that paper lying around is such a good idea. She better be careful before she finds that something not so special has been added to all her hard work.

Well folks, we got a puppy. She’s a beautiful grey Catahoula and we are smitten. And I think she’s settling in pretty well so far. She’s discovered that her favourite place to sit or sleep is at my feet and a close second is underneath the end table. We’ve had to re-fill the ice cube tray more than once (her old owners weren’t kidding – she loves them!) and she’s loving the big backyard that was going to waste before we brought her home. She is very excitable and is nipping quite a bit but she is in a new environment and she is a puppy (although, I would welcome any tips to try and break her of the nipping!) and I’m sure she’ll settle down before too long. I forgot how funny it was when puppies just flop to the floor and I love how she grabs the leash after I put it on - sort of like she’s taking us for a walk. And we’re getting used to her little cues for when she needs to go outside – only 2 accidents so far and they were totally our fault. We just stared at her wondering why she was acting so weird. Although, I think she has tricked me once or twice because I took her out a couple of times and there was no peeing…that doesn’t mean she’s smarter than me does it?

What I didn’t realize was that this puppy would be such a great tool parenting wise. I’m not above bribery as a parent and it’s nice to see my kids helping out a little bit more around the house with absolutely no provocation from me. None whatsoever! It’s been great. Although, I don’t expect them to keep it up for much longer and then I’ll have to start nagging them. Ah bribery and nagging. I should be getting my fabulous mom award real soon. They said it was in the mail!

That's My Girl !!!

I’m 34 years old and I’m not ready for boys. Especially not those Eddie Haskell types that rush up to introduce themselves to you, enthusiastically shake your hand and try to make awkward small talk while you eye them skeptically. You see, my daughter just turned 14 and I’ve been dreading this next stage. Mostly because I’m forced to the realization that she’s not my baby anymore. Forced to say goodbye to the pigtails and say hello to the eye rolling when I lovingly call her ‘SarBear’. She’s becoming a woman and if I’ve done my job correctly, she’ll be strong, smart and sure of herself and be in a much better place than I was at her age.

My husband is handling this worse than I am. A couple of weeks ago I was heading up the stairs after putting the last load of laundry into the washing machine. Patting myself on the back because I was caught up for the first time in months and I walked into total complete darkness. You see, boys had knocked on the door and asked for Sarah and I found my husband in the office pulling the blinds back ever so slightly while he watched. When he noticed I was there he explained what he was doing (and why he had turned off the lights) and I jokingly said, ‘why don’t you open the window so you can hear them too’! And looking more serious than I had seen in years he exclaimed ‘what a great idea!’ I think we’re in for a few rough years ahead…

Recently we found out that one of these boys is leaving with his parents for a year in Mexico and there was a sort of going away party for him which we reluctantly let her go to. This boy (aka Eddie Haskell) ended up walking her home and on the way home he confessed to Sarah that he liked her. That he really liked her. And my smart, beautiful young daughter Han Solo’d him. That’s right folks. She looked him in the eye, smiled sweetly and said, “I know.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, reprimand her for her insensitivity or applaud her confidence. Naturally I opted for the standing ovation, thrilled that my daughter can hold her own much better than I ever could at 14.

And it occurs to me that even after everything we’ve been through and that I really miss not having my mom around to talk to about all of this foreign territory, we must be doing something right.

Honestly though…I’m really glad this boy is moving to Mexico for a year!!

It's Nothing Like the Movies :(

The first time I visited my dad in the psyche ward, I was a little bit disappointed. After I had answered a few basic questions and was granted access, I expected to see Jack Nicholson or Brad Pitt hanging around, getting the other patients all riled up – basically causing mischief of some sort. Maybe a sane Bruce Willis stuck there when he was supposed to be out in society collecting information to save his world from the future. I expected to see people standing still, drooling and staring blankly into space because they had been medicated for reasons they really only make up in the movies. Nothing was what I had expected. It was all so…normal. People keeping to themselves really. Reading, watching TV, doing laundry and taking a cigarette break while politely nodding and exchanging courtesies with other patients and visitors.

Now don’t get me wrong, my visits with my dad had their…um…quirks! There was one lady who was lovely. She adored my dad and we all had some really good conversations about lots of different things. But…she really loved her sweater dresses (80’s style – big chunky sweaters belted around the middle with huge shoulder pads)! Only…I’m not sure she realized that a regular old fashioned sweater wasn’t the same thing as the sweater dresses from her youth. It was really hard maintaining eye contact, especially on the days she decided not to wear her lady underthings. I was always worrying that my concentration would slip and I’d look. I mean, it had to be rude to look and I was horrified in a weak moment when I let my eyes drift and I panicked - oh shit…I can’t believe I looked…did she see me look? Should I pretend I didn’t look? *groan* - what is the proper etiquette for moments like that?

One afternoon we were sitting in the common room (really just a TV surrounded by couches) watching something and not really talking, sort of just letting the time pass when out of the corner of my eye I saw a very young, beautiful woman walk into the room. She was stunning and confident and I couldn’t look away, my jaw had dropped. She was also stark naked. That was the only time I witnessed all hell break loose. She started to yell and scream at the nurses and guards when they asked her to go back to her room. The situation escalated and it took 4 security guards to subdue her. 4! And all I could think about during it all was that I have never looked that good naked and I drove home completely absorbed in my own self pity, silently wishing that I looked as good as she did.

And while it was eye-opening and refreshing to see how normal it all was with just a touch of weirdness, it was still disappointing to discover that my beloved movies don’t really give you the real picture. Fingers crossed that this is the only anomaly between movies and real life. They mimic real life the rest of the time right?

The Best and Worst Time of the Year...

This is my favourite time of year. The leaves are changing colour, the air is crisper and Santa season is right around the corner. There are so many great holidays this time of year – Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas and the grand finale – New Years! Holiday parties and shopping for just the right gifts. The first snowfall (as long as I don’t have to drive in it!) and the first snowman and snow angels. Hot chocolate, trimming our tree and humming to the wonderful melodies we all know by heart. This is what I’ve worked so hard for all year – it’s my reward, my pat on the back!

Simultaneously, this is also the worst time of the year for me. The time of year where I force those walls back up and paste a smile on my face trying to hide how emotionally overwhelming it really is. The time of year where crying and driving is at an all time high. It started ten years ago - all of this history occurring within the last weeks of the year - when my Grandpa died. The first time I had experienced death really. I adored my Grandpa and was devastated. Then seven years ago was probably the worst year of my life. My Nana died first – a fabulous woman from the tips of her vibrant red hair down to her polished toe nails. A woman who had a brooch on every single coat and who probably owned every skin care product ever invented. My husband’s grandmother was next – just a few short weeks after Nana. A woman so incredible we felt compelled to name our daughter after her. And then the climax – a couple more weeks go by and then my mom - who died far too soon and who I still miss...so much. And interspersed with all of this, we have my mom’s birthday (tomorrow!) and next month, my dad’s birthday.

I can’t help but be reminded of all that I’ve lost and all that I’ll miss out on. And I can’t help but think, has enough time gone by? Should I be over it already? If so, how? How does one move past dwelling on the bad times? It’s not like I do it all the time mind you but this time of year is just incredibly difficult and after seven years, I still haven’t figured out how to move past it. How to let myself just feel without the tears, to genuinely smile without the walls while allowing myself to remember it all...the good and the bad.

I’ll be thinking a lot about my mom tomorrow. She would have been 55 years old. I’ll feel sorry for myself and I’ll probably cry in the car on the way to work. I’ll talk to the girls about her and just try to get through the day minute by minute...hour by hour. Maybe I’ll get them to start on their Christmas lists this weekend. Retail therapy never hurt anyone...right?