The mind is a strange planet, and I know I am not alone. Your mind is just as odd as mine. Already I can feel a strategy brewing as to how to deal with my father’s death.
On the one hand my mind says….hey, why be sad, the old dude is not missing. He is just on another plane. Death is not the end. So there is really no need to be sad or indulge in any of those tears. So get up and deal with what must be dealt with!
I also know of people who lost parents or a parent and it defined their lives. Sorry Daddy, you know I love you and all, but your death will not affect me that way. All this ‘speak’ going on in my head. This….when I wake up with tears in my throat.
Then I hear my Mother on the phone. This isn’t just shock, I know my Mother. She is one of the biggest lights in my life. Still, I don’t know how she does it. Where does this huge capacity to love come from? How could she love my Father and God the way she does, without question? Me, I question everything, everyone all the time. I’d interrogate my shadow and make it sing back up harmonies for me on stage if I could.
When I think of my father now, I see his face, in my mind’s eye, light up when I bring him food. All the dishes I tried out on them, the ones I was proud of, the lemon meringue pie I make only for him. I made those dishes because I could see right right through the pain that was continually pounding his body. The food helped.
I am not picking up calls. What do I say? My responses tend to be funny, or weird. Let me write instead, as I can hold on to the words I type. Control my breathing and ease into whatever thought assail me and the feeling that follow. Hearing people’s voices, especially those who know me is just too overwhelming to deal with now.
I just don’t wanna lose my way grieving for my father. Part of my strategy dealing with this grief is not to depend on anyone for emotional support. Hear me out first. The healing that takes place must be my own. Managed in my own way. I won’t reach out excessively as people have their own lives to deal with. I won’t burden anyone with my heart that’s slightly bent out of shape. It’s my job to nurture and heal my heart. No one else’s.
Now I gotta get up and decide what to make my Mother for lunch. And I need to play Ella and Louis singing as I cook. So I can work my way through memories that make me cry the hardest first. Okay Daddy, it’s you, me, Ella, Louis…in April and we’re in Paris. Okay. Let’s go.