the peace which passeth

I've been rolling "the peace which passeth all understanding" around in my mind now for the last week. I think this phrase sort of stops me like a roadblock, because I find peace IN understanding things. I don't like things I can't wrap my head around, or explain in a logical way.

(Guess whose gene that is...?)

Very early Sunday morning, an old family friend passed away of cancer. He was in his own home, his wife by his side, and so much of this story that I've been following through Facebook posts and caringbridge journal entries just make my heart ache, like a fist to the chest. It's a mirror to a still too fresh face of grief.

I'm trying to understand. How does this peace work? 

Are there steps you take to get there? 

Does it come in moments or waves, or does it enter and stay?

Will I always feel sick when I look back on that time?

Will I eventually just not be saddened by this fate?

The knot in my chest... does that loosen and fade away?

Does a darkness lift?

Is a tangible weight relieved?

I don't get it. What exactly does this peace, that we just can't understand, feel like?

Amazingly, most of the time I don't sit around and wonder "why me?" or "why us?" or even "what if?" If I'm giving myself credit, I'd saying I'm just smarter than that. If I'm being realistic, it's because none of those questions - or the answer which is also un-knowable -  make me feel better. In fact, thinking about those events at ALL doesn't make me feel any better. So I just don't. But the entries on this blog could definitely lead a reader to think that I struggle with this daily, and I dwell on it, and I can't move past it. Over the last year I had 6 entries and every single one of them was about grief, cancer, and Dad. But I'm not struggling with it daily. I just feel... emptier. Bland. Not in turmoil, but - certainly - not at peace.

It passeth, alright. It passes me right on by... and keeps going.

It's a New Year 2015

It's no secret that I love the holiday season. I used to be a real grinch about it, until 5 or 6 years ago when I stopped hating gifts and blaming commercialism, and started enjoying the idea of celebrating others. Celebrating also changed with simple maturity... leaving childish, self-centered perspectives on the holiday behind, and realizing that it was far more meaningful to show appreciation, than to receive gifts. And this extended to that pivotal turning point in life when you really realize just how important your family and close friends are, despite flaws, dysfunctions, and disagreements. It's better to be together, than to be alone. Conversation with good friends, cherished moments with family members, and joining loved ones around a table filled with hearty food and drink to relish fond memories...priorities, people.

But the New Year is my favorite of all the days we celebrate. It is a bookend, but also a beginning. I love fresh starts. I have several times referenced the Anne Shirley quote - “Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” - and that is often exactly how I feel when I am going to bed at night. For 24 hours people stop what they are doing and consider the magnitude of another year in time rolling over to give way to a fresh, new one... with no mistakes in it yet.

Spending too much time looking backward has proved to be an unhealthy habit for me. I find that my nature, which is prone to intense criticism, gets stuck on all the things that didn't quite live up to my expectations, instead of sifting through to find the moments that left me awestruck. I have tried more and more over the years to shift my focus forward and strive harder, instead of dwell about what was not to be or could have been better. Life hangs in too delicate a balance to dig up the failures of the year past, and really: how does revisiting them actually encourage goals that leave us hopeful for the future? 

If there's anything I've learned in the last couple of years, it's that survival depends on and even finds it's anchor in Hope. We would be nothing without it, adrift and waterlogged. Hope is what sails us forward, onward... toward a fresh start with no mistakes.

Yet, it's still healthy to glance over the metaphorical shoulder now and then, and this is why I am still doing the questionnaire below, after four years. I'm a little late in posting, but it was important to me to keep the tradition going forward....

As always --- If you feel so inclined - leave me a yearbook message in the comments section below with YOUR answer to the final question. I enjoy reading them. :-)

* * *

I began answering this "A Year in Review" questionnaire three years ago. This is my fourth year, and I always enjoy looking back on my answers from the previous year and comparing life as I know it now to what my expectations were at the start of the year. 

1. What did you do in 2014 that you'd never done before?
Visited Mexico! And Portland! Celebrated 3 years of marriage, turned 29, and made it a whole year without the physical (earthly) presence of my dad.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
My only and all encompassing goal for 2014 was: BE WELL. 

It took me about 1/2 the year to get there, but I did recover from the problems I was dealing with. And then new ones popped up - so I would say Health is an ongoing project, as it is for everyone.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes, and it was magical watching a dear friend's heart fill to the brim with a new kind of love.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No.

5. What countries did you visit?

Mexico.

6. What would you like to have in 2015 that you lacked in 2014?

Balance.

7. What date from 2014 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

February 28 - Nora was born!

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Making great strides in my new career. Becoming more relaxed about things that don't really matter, learning to let go.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Letting stress and worry get the best of me. Unnecessary arguing with the Husband.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Yes, but not in a way that remotely compared to the year before!

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Unlimited carwash membership! :)

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My mom. Watching her pick up the pieces of her life and plough forward with a thousand new responsibilities has made me simultaneously proud and filled with admiration and respect.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
I'm afraid this is a far too public forum for these types of questions.

14. Where did most of your money go?
FOOD. Must stop eating out!!!

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Our Pacific Coastal road trip from San Francisco to Portland! Would totally move there - it is delightful. And it was one of the best trips I've ever taken.

16. What song will always remind you of 2014?

"All About that Bass" - Meghan Trainor

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
I. happier or sadder?
Happier.

II. thinner or fatter?
Ugh.

III. richer or poorer?
Richer.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Exercised, meditated, read books, loved on the Hubs.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Been angry and bitter and stressed out. Watched TV, screen time in general.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
At the Green house with family and in Gonzales.

21. Who had the biggest influence on your life in 2014?
Gina, the Experience Expert.

22. Did you fall in love in 2014?
I think fell into a love-hate relationship with work. :) And also with Moscow Mules.

23. How many one-night stands?
None.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
Parenthood :)

25. Do you dislike anyone now that you didn't dislike this time last year?
None who comes to mind.

26. What was the best book you read?
The Signature of All Things, by Elizabeth Gilbert. 

This is the best book I have read in many years and after many, many months, I still can't stop thinking about it.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Let's go instead with PODCAST - loved Serial!

28. What did you want and get?
More financial freedom, more work, more experience in my industry.

29. What did you want and not get?
More travel time! A new house and a new car.

30. Best movies this year? (And I'm adding Netflix Series, too!)
The 100 Foot Journey, The Honorable Woman, Peaky Blinders, The Killing, House of Cards

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I worked! Amazing wedding at the Long Center, Gina baked me a funfetti cake, all the vendors sang, and then I hung around to listen to the band with a view of our great city!

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Less time in front of my computer.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013?
Comfortable and classic. The year of button downs, denim, and gold accessories.

34. What kept you sane?
My Google Calendar, venting sessions, and apparently a lot of chocolate.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Meh. Can't say I paid attention.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
The Paris terrorist attacks.

37. Who did you miss?
My old FRIENDS. Why do none of them live in Austin???

38. Who was the best new person you met?
That would have to be a lot of the wonderful event professionals we work with regularly, with a special nod to Trace. ;)

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2014:

It's a fine line between practicing tolerance / forgiveness and being walked all over. Don't mistake one for the other, and don't forget you have a backbone.

40. One word or sentence to describe how you feel about 2014:

"Can't" is a dirty four letter word, so stop saying it.

365 Days + Eternity

To mark the One Year, we rented a house in Port Aransas. The house full of people, the visits with friends, having us all in one spot was all great - but it didn't feel like therapy. I thought I would feel something on that day, that one year anniversary. I thought I would feel different or tragic or weird. I think I was just too busy driving, working, and visiting, and quite honestly I didn't want to stop and breathe, and think about what it being ONE YEAR really meant.

While there I had a conversation with a family friend about "outlets." It's not new news that everyone grieves and processes grief individually. I think I took a lot of time during my dad's decline, and while he was still alive, to prepare and grieve in my own way. But I also know now that I truly fulfilled my type-A, controlling personality stereotype and I threw myself into work and moving forward, without really looking the beast in the eye. So it's hit me in little waves, and affected me in more subtle, slow-growing ways. I keep coming back here to write about it, because that is truly the outlet that works for me. For now. I can talk about it, without having to talk about it. I can unload and then hide away for a month or two. I can write to an invisible audience, but not have to listen to anyone's opinions or advice. I think some grief counseling might be in my future - not really because of losing my dad, but because of the WAY we lost him, and what I witnessed in that death, and how it changed me as a person, and all the questions about life that now seem uncapturable and, certainly, unanswerable.

It's been a weird month. Like so much of the last year and a half, I'm not really sure what to think, but I do know I'm having a lot of thoughts. Like ALL OF THE THOUGHTS. I feel as though at least one of them must be profound, worth remembering, or at the very least therapeutic to write down, so I am. This is rambly and winding, but I need them to get out of my head and out into oblivion.... so I can let some of them go.

Most of the time now I'm just tired. TIRED. I don't have a baby or even a true 40 hour work week to blame so I'm going to point the finger at the blanket of sadness we all got wrapped up in last year. If I can name one way grief has affected me, it would be that it has exhausted me in a very deep, penetrating way. I have what I call "foggy brain" most days - unless I'm doped up on coffee. I was never good at small-talk, but now I'm reeeeally awful and completely lose my way in conversation - stopping mid-sentence searching for a common word or to even remember what I was saying seconds ago. I have no attention span or short-term memory, and mostly - I want to sleep. No amount of sleep makes me feel really rested, just craving more, and yes, I'm well-aware that these are all pretty key signs of depression. It comes and goes. Being busy helps.

To be honest, some of the best and the absolutely worst moments of my life happened last summer, so there's really no surprise I haven't left it behind just yet. I've talked about that before: how you have cherishable moments brought on by horrific circumstances, that make you feel all at once so thankful and so guilty for that same gratitude. But the absolute worst of last year's events ended on September 25th.

That the day my dad died was not the worst day of my life, in and of itself feels awful. That was the day my dad slipped away at 4:05am, with my mom's head on his shoulder and her hand in his, and we gently bathed him, sang him songs, and helped carry his body down the stairs, watching as the hearse carried him off and forever away. But as awful as that day was, it wasn't the worst.

The worst was the week before. The worst was the last doctor's appointment we had, the last time my dad left the house, the last day we brought him home with news that felt like boulders in the bottoms of our stomachs. Yes, that was a terrible day. That was the day that finally a doctor looked us in the eyes and told us with a sense of finality and no false hope that my dad's liver was one big lumpy tumor mass. That we needed to call Hospice. Not tomorrow or next week, but today. That day... That day was the day my dad hobbled out of the hospital leaning on me, his once strong grip weak and submissive, his arm around me and mine around him, holding him up. I took deep breaths to hold in the wave of nausea and fear and panic that was rising like a tsunami inside of me. My sister and I helped him into the car, and I remember so so so clearly: concentrating so hard - on waiting until I was sure my parent's car was out of sight so they wouldn't see, before letting that wave crash over me, finding a bench to sit down, and admitting to myself we were not going to be the lucky ones. And the second wave hit sitting in my sister's car - trying to dictate what needed to happen next. Trying to think clearly enough to delegate. Trying to be "okay" enough to drive myself home, having been told my Dad had just days to live. That day was it for me. All of my fears crushed me. That day was awful.

There was more awfulness in the week that followed, the worst got worse. I quite honestly can't even recount it, because my heart starts palpitating and my stomach starts churning. But September 25th wasn't the worst day. It was a day of true sadness, with a depth and a meaning unlike anything I had ever known, but not despair. No, I felt relieved. What we had witnessed in that last week made death seem so innocent by comparison.

So, my disclaimer should have been, no one can hate me for saying that - you can't know or understand unless you really have cared for a hospice patient. Unless you have watched someone die in pain, rather than in peace. If you have administered liquid morphine, and suctioned out saliva, and rubbed vaseline on peeling lips, and changed bed sheets, and watched your family member shrivel and become hollow and waxen, unable to form words or to grasp your hand or even open their eyes - sure, go ahead and pass judgement on my feeling that the day my dad died was not the worst day I've endured.

There are certainly terrible things that come afterward, which is why there are thousands of people who've built careers around helping the grieving and thousands of books to guide you toward rebuilding. When people say it's a nightmare, there's a reason. That's exactly what it feels like. Over a year later, and I'm still not sure how we just wake up and do normal things each day. It feels as though the world should have stopped, or everything should have been somehow distinctly different from that moment onward. And weirdly, it's not so different, even though so many things have changed. And that in itself is the most frightening aspect of death and loss to me so far. Time doesn't stop. We don't wake up, because we're already awake. We start to forget. Life grows around that little blip, that little timestamp in history, and continues forward like it has for hundreds of thousands of years. 

Some days I think, "did it really even happen?" Some days I can't be sure.

Dear Dad - Happy 61st Birthday

Dear Dad,

Today was the weirdest birthday celebration I've ever been apart of, because the birthday boy wasn't at the party. 

Those of us who could manage it logistically (me, Margaret, Milo, Samson, Mom, and all the pups) gathered under the roof of the house you built for us to gather in. (In true Tim form, he was absent so he could brew beer... gotta love the priorities, but I'm sure you would have more than approved.) There weren't balloons, or presents, or even cake. (Ironically, there were often no balloons, presents, or even cake on your birthday when you were here to "celebrate" anyway, but that's beside the point.) 

I visited your bench at the new dog park with Oscar. It's in the best location - by far - under a big shade tree. I can see it being the bench that people head for as soon as they enter the gate. It will attract a lot of butts (and mutts)! The park has a long way to go toward being completed, but it's fun to think of you on that bench overseeing all the development - and probably telling them how it should be done faster, stronger, better.

We took the dogs to the river and let them swim and romp and get some rowdies out. The river was a little high and really muddy from all the recent rain. Mom brought the walking sticks and walked the dogs up the river a little, but not too far because there were other families out. They had so much fun, and they all got baths when we got back.

Samson asks for GiGi, constantly, and cries when she can't hold his hand or play with him, or do anything less than devote 120% of her attention to him. She's earned his love, but I can't help but think how attached he'd be to you as well, if he'd had the opportunity. Oh, the trouble you two would have rustled up - and probably a couple of trips to the ER! You would love him at this age. He's learning so much so quickly, has such a vocabulary, and is starting to understand jokes... I predict he'll be a prankster. I'm pretty sure he would have adored your goofy sense of humor.

To finish out the day we celebrated with dinner at your favorite restaurant - The Huisache, of course. Sweet Potato Fries, Chicken Fried Steak, a glass of good wine. All a tribute, in simple recognition of this day on which you were born, 61 years ago.

I think you would have appreciated the gestures, without all the fuss.

I've always felt it was so appropriate that your birth date falls within days of the annual autumnal solstice. It's even more appropriate that this year the season change actually fell on your birthday. Symbolically, we are all entering a new season together: a whole year since you departed this world and headed onward to new adventures. Last year feels simultaneously a million light years ago, and as if it were yesterday.

There's something about this one year mark that makes things feel different and official. We survived. A whole year. In some ways this makes me feel relieved and proud, like I wasn't sure we could do it... or that life would actually GO ON. We did, it does. In other ways, the sadness develops a new facet, and deepens. As if, there really is no doubt anymore that you aren't coming back. You're not just on extended vacation, or downstairs puttering around, or hiking on the back of the property. This is it: our new reality. We don't get to wake up from a bad dream, and get soothed with a hug and celebrate with a family reunion dinner.

I thought today would be much, much harder, but I feel your presence so strongly in our lives and hearts each day that it's not quite as lonely as I expected. Maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better. Or maybe the true challenges will come later, as it gets harder and harder to remember details, and deny the truth. I hope not. I hope it doesn't get more challenging than this!

What can I say? On a less melancholy note, I'm really happy you were born. I'm so glad my family tree turned out the way it did! It definitely has its less than perfect elements - notably, the Green nose and aptitude for harsh criticism - but all-in-all I cannot for the life of me imagine my world with a different father. I'll take the good, the bad, and the ugly, over whoever else might have been in the running! I'm so glad I got you for my DNA. 

I'm so incredibly happy that you were born to be my dad. Even if 60 years was all we got - I'll celebrate each one... and I'll continue celebrating each year I get to look back on the memories, too.

Happy 61st Birthday!

I love you, always and forever.

Lolo

Dear Dad - Happy Father's Day

Dear Dad,

A year ago for Father's Day we gathered - knowing, but not accepting, it might be our last - and we made you a dinner that was organic, alkaline, GMO-free, and nutritionist approved. By the time the meal was ready, mom had to coax you from the basement where you were puttering around, because you didn't have an appetite and felt bad about not wanting to eat all the food we'd prepared in your honor. That made me want to cry more than anything. That you didn't want to let us down, after all the effort. If you only knew...

This year our world is so different. Worse in so many ways, better in some. I did nothing to celebrate except spare a few spiders' lives. You never really liked us to make a big deal out of commercial holidays anyway. I thought about you. I thought about what the day was meant to be. I wondered if maybe I should be more contemplative, or perhaps watch some home videos or get out pictures. The ugly truth is... I don't really want to remember right now. Sometimes I feel like if I let the full magnitude of this whole life and death thing really wash over me, it will completely swallow me and I will drown in uncertainty. I'm trying to find the balance between carrying you with me always, and letting go of all the parts that hurt. Right now it all hurts. Not everyday or every minute, but it somehow seems easier to just keep on pretending everything's okay, than to face the weight of reality.

I still wrestle with the fact that you're not here. Given the nature of our relationship, it's fairly easy to go a few days or weeks now feeling pretty "normal," caught up in daily drama and stress, before something acts as a jarring reminder. I try to tell myself this is a good thing. We are moving forward and keeping on keeping on, just like you would do if the shoe was on the other foot. But a part of me just has this deep well of guilt for doing all those same things. Guilt for not wanting to shed any more tears, guilt for getting caught up in shallowness and superficial "life" stuff, guilt for not honoring your memory more often and in more meaningful ways.

I think missing you isn't as easy as JUST missing you. For me it's also a whole lot of questions and uncertainties that I don't have answers or assurances for right now. It's simpler to just shelf the whole thing, and try to live life. But....

That seems so unfair. 

Unfair to all of the memories, and the love, and the years you spent dedicated to providing for me, guiding me, growing me. I haven't forgotten. Oh Lord, keep me from ever forgetting the good parts. That is so terrifying. I really don't know what else to do but just keep living, and hope the answers will come or peace will take their place. If you were here, I'd ask you - but if you were here, I don't believe I'd need to ask. 

So, Dad, I rescued a few spiders for you! Pretty sure you would have valued that more highly than most other things. I don't need a special day to be reminded I had a wonderfully complex character for my dad. One who valued even the tiniest spider's life. That fact is with me everyday, carved into my heart.

I love you, always and forever.

Lolo