Pitch Black

I’ve been MIA for close to six weeks now.

And if it weren’t for the fact that my domain name was up for renewal, I probably would have stayed MIA for even longer. So thank you to Hubby (and to a few other folk out there who inquired about how I was doing) for pushing me to update this piece of cyberspace.

See, the thing is … I’m not quite sure to write about these days. Lately, nothing seems to inspire any urge to write. I’m sure I do have things to say, but it seems so trivial compared to what else is going on in the world. Or what else is going on in my life.

Between traveling for my job and spending a lot of our time in Detroit, I’ve hardly had enough time to catch up on all the TV shows we’ve had DVR’d since before Thanksgiving. So yeah … being in Chicago these past few days, I’ve spent my downtime watching my shows.

Now … is it me? Or does it always seem that when you’re going through something personal that the news or even certain TV shows seem to center around those personal issues? For instance, I’m sure a few of my IF friends can relate to the storyline surrounding Audrey & Jeff in “Rules of Engagement.” For me, it happens to be Marshall’s latest storyline in “How I Met Your Mother.”

As it happens, one of the first few episodes I “caught up” with following my Dad’s funeral was the episode where Marshall and Lily, who have been trying for the past few seasons to get pregnant, finally go to see an Infertility Specialist. Watching their trials to start their family have, at one time or another, touched that part of me that still mourns the fact that I’ve never been able to get pregnant.

But this episode … well, the ending definitely surprised me. That was when we find out that Marshall’s Dad had suddenly died from a heart attack.

Talk about art imitating life. Nothing could hit closer to home at that moment than the look that Marshall had on his face when he was told of the news. And as if I hadn’t cried enough over the past few weeks by that time, I found myself with big crocodile tears as the credits rolled by.

And since then, the episodes of “How I Met Your Mother” have somehow managed to make me cry in some way or another. Like the one where the gang tries to cheer Marshall up during his Dad’s funeral.  Or the one where Marshall was too preoccupied with trying to be the environmental lawyer that he had always told his Dad he’d be.

Then there’s the “Desperation Day” episode. Lily decides to fly out to Minnesota to be with Marshall on Valentine’s Day.  Marshall  had been back at his childhood home since the funeral  to “help” his mother adjust to life without his father. What Lily finds when she arrives is that Marshall’s way of “helping” included him experiencing a bit of “Revertigo.” In other words, he reverted back to the high school version of Marshall; he began to ask his Mom to do everything for him: make his lunch, do his laundry, etc.

During a conversation Marshall had with Ted (in the midst of playing old video games in his childhood bedroom), Marshall randomly turned to Ted and said, “I miss my father.” And Ted answered, “I know.”

Then Marshall relayed the story of a memory he had of taking long road trips with the entire family. And how many times he’d find himself the only one awake to keep his Dad company while he drove through the darkness of night. Marshall told him how he could never see anything in front of the headlights during those pitch black nights, but he always felt safe because his Dad was driving. And he was a superhero that could see way out into the darkness. But now that his Dad was gone, things are just pitch black … and he could no longer see anything in front of him. And he couldn’t see where he was going.

And that’s really what it is; I miss my father. I miss the simplicity that life was when I was back in high school … even if I didn’t think life was anything but simple at the ripe old age of 15. I wish I could go back to when I could sit in front of the TV and watch old reruns with my Dad asleep on the couch. I wish I could have him make his famous “Daddy’s Chicken Noodle Soup” on the days I was feeling sick.

I especially miss the car trips we’d make to London, Ontario (or even to the East Coast) to visit family … where I found myself the one who’d stay up with my Dad to keep him company. To sing songs on the radio just to keep him awake.

And now, I feel lost. Like Marshall, I can no longer see what’s in front of me; no longer feel the urge to do the things I normally like to do. Like knit or crochet. Or write.

But I know that this is normal; that I’ll eventually be able to put one foot in front of the other and move on. And I guess that’s why I’m making the effort to do those activities I’ve enjoyed in the past. The same ones that helped me work through the loss I’ve felt about Infertility.

For now though, I’m going to continue with my grief for just a little longer. Well … truly, I’ll grieve for as long as it takes me to grieve. But the point is, I know what I need to get back to in order to return to some sense of normalcy.

And I know that’s what my Dad would have wanted.

Forty Days of Night

Forty days ago, my Dad past away. Today, amongst our Filipino-Catholic family and friends, we will be celebrating the 40th day of remembrance.

For those of you that aren’t familiar (or haven’t read this previous post), the 40th day is believed to be the day that a loved one has “finished” visiting his/her loved ones on earth and is ready to ascend into the heavens.

I won’t lie … it has been an incredibly emotional and physically exhausting couple of months. Throw the holidays into the mix and … well, yeah. Let’s just say the hamster on the wheel inside my head has been working overtime.

As I had expected, there are those days where I’m so busy that I don’t have time to think about the loss of my Dad. And then there are those times … usually during the most random moment … where it hits me square in the chest.

My cousin and I, during the initial 9-day Novena period, started to refer to those moments as “Meltdowns.” Something, typically some off-the-wall memory of my Dad, would transform me into a blubbering mess. And although these “meltdowns” don’t happen as readily as they did in the first few weeks, I still wonder when I’ll start to feel a bit better.

I have many stories to share … some of them involving stories of “visits” from my Dad over the past 40 days … yet I feel I’ve got little strength to write by the end of the day. This is obvious, as I haven’t had the inclination to blog over the past few months.

So yeah … this is my sad attempt to start writing again. And maybe when those every-day memories of my Dad don’t hurt so much, I’ll be able to tell you some of those stories.

But for now, just know that I’m around. And I’m reading. And I’m hoping to get back into some sort of “normal” again soon.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Related Posts:

Emily Prays for Nine Days

Emily Hits a Previous 40-Day Mark

The Whole Nine Yards

Nine days ago, at approximately 7:30 pm that night, a pretty significant hole had formed in my heart. What had been there for the past 38 years of my life was the physical presence of my Dad on this world. And even though (by this time) we had been expecting his “last breath” for a couple of days, it still didn’t help the sudden onset of emptiness I felt in my chest.

I didn’t know what to expect … or how it would feel to lose someone so significant in my life. I didn’t know  that my emotions could swing from one spectrum to another in the blink of an eye. After all, how can I have gone from laughing hysterically about a particularly funny incident involving my Dad … to crying inconsolably about that hole in my heart.

Except now, after nine whole days of gathering with family and friends … of praying the traditional Filipino-Catholic Novena following the departure of a loved one … I can finally say that the hole in my heart has begun to fill. And it’s because of all those family members and friends that have come out in droves to celebrate my Dad’s life.

Although not quite to back to capacity, the emptiness that once occupied that hole is now filled with the memories I have of my Dad … of all those special Daddy-Daughter moments. I know that I can look back at those moments and feel my Dad’s presence enveloping me.

But more importantly, that hole is now filled with all the stories about my Dad that were shared with me these past two weeks. It’s been filled with the incredible support I’ve felt from old friends and even older friends … whether it was driving clear across the State just to spend 5 minutes crying with me minutes before the Funeral Mass. Or making an extra trip to Mickey Dee’s to pick up a sweet iced tea and iced latte for me and Hubby. Or even just being there to hug me; knowing that was exactly what I needed at that moment.

So thank you, all my family and friends … I hope you know how much every single kind word** you’ve said and every single kind gesture you’ve done has meant the world to me.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

** Special thanks to my cousins … from both sides of my family. You’ve been my my saving grace during those dark, dark moments.

*** An extra-special thanks to my incredibly awesome husband. We joke about me having a thing for “The Rock” … but rest assured, you are my one and only Rock. You are my constant in the midst of chaos.

Unforgettable ... That's what you are to me.



Cloaked in Kindness

Palliative care (from Latin palliare, to cloak) is any form of medical care or treatment that concentrates on reducing the severity of disease symptoms, rather than striving to halt, delay, or reverse progression of the disease itself or provide a cure. The goal is to prevent and relieve suffering and to improve quality of life for people facing serious, complex illness.”

— Definition taken from Wikipedia

It’s just after midnight, early Thursday morning. I have to say that I feel like I’ve aged a whole month over the past few days … and probably three of those “weeks” were as a result of the last 36 hours.

Meeting Emila for the first time … wish it was under better circumstances

First of all, I swear … I think between Hubby & I, we’ve had a combined total of 6 hours of sleep since Sunday night. Pure exhaustion has taken over at this time and auto-pilot mode kicked in by Tuesday evening.

First off, it’s a sad state of affairs when … getting into our car Tuesday evening for a quick jaunt out of the hospital for a much-needed shower and some fresh air … I actually commented that the car seat had been the most comfortable thing I had sat in all day long.

Secondly, squishing yourself (well, actually my big bootie) onto a small cushioned foot stool just so that I can feel as if I was laying horizontally on a bed is not very comfortable. So much for that awesome full-body massage Hubby and I had this past Saturday …

But mostly, I think the sleep deprivation was more because of the constant anxiety of having my Dad in the ICU and not knowing exactly what could happen next. It was the constant worry that Dad’s prognosis was not (ever) going to functionally improve. It was the fear that we wouldn’t know exactly how my Dad wanted us to proceed in his care … especially because he wasn’t “awake” to tell us. And even moreso, because my Dad did not have any Advanced Directives. He had not written down any of his wishes for us.

By Tuesday afternoon Mom, Dr. Bro and I had a very frank discussion about what we all felt should happen next. We discussed, as his immediate next of kins, what we all believed Dad would have wanted us to do. The good thing was that he had had the same discussion with all of us at one time or another. The sad thing was knowing that if we respected his wishes, we would run the risk of losing him sooner than we were ready to let him go.

Holding Little Em for the first time

In the end … and after discussion with the rest of my Dad’s siblings, we decided that we would respect my Dad’s wishes. We would remove the G*d-awfulBreathing Tube” and see how he did without the respirator. We would not … other than provide comfort measures only … perform any extraordinary measures to extend his life.

So today, just before noon, we removed the breathing tube. And the entire family stood around him praying … saying our good-byes to the incredible man we all loved so fiercely. And we waited … and waited.

And as of right now … we’re continuing to wait. Except we’re no longer in the ICU … we’re in the hospital’s Palliative Care/Hospice floor. Which is where we’ll continue to be until Dad’s finally at rest … where I hope his grand-furbaby Rain is waiting patiently to cuddle next to him.

Thank you all for for “cloaking” us with your kind prayers and positive vibes .. it means the world to me and my family.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Related Posts:

It’s Hard To Be Brave

No More Rain

Deep Breaths

Up In Smoke

Who’s Your Daddy?

The proud Auntie & Uncle … Don’t we ALL look exhausted in this photo?

It’s Hard To Be Brave

Now and then, Piglet can feel quite anxious. It’s hard to be brave when you’re a very small animal but sometimes being small makes him very useful – and when one’s useful, one forgets to be frightened.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. Hubby & I spent it with both sides of our family in Detroit; lunch with my side and dinner with his side.

We played a little Wii Rock Band with Hubby’s cousin on Thanksgiving. We went to see HP7 (for the second time) with my cousins on Friday. And Saturday started off with a much-needed, looong-overdue couple’s massage followed by Christmas shopping and another trip to the movie theater in the evening for a movie date.

But then we came back to Chicago on Sunday. And as we opened our side door, we noticed our poor Rain sleeping with her head next to her water bowl. That was the first bad sign. The second one was that she wasn’t able to stand for more than a few seconds without wobbling and eventually tumbling onto her side.

So as soon as we could, we took her to the local Pet ER which confirmed what we already knew. And that was that our 20 year-old cat was actively dying. And hence, the reason for my previous post.

Then came Monday morning. I was already settling into grieving for the loss of our beloved furbaby and was finding it difficult to get up out of bed. I had planned for a day of reading up and “studying” for my next presentation for work.

Eventually I managed to drag myself into the shower when I heard our phone ring. In the midst of shampooing my hair, Hubby told me that my Mom had tried calling my cell phone. And later, when I called her back, she had told me that my Dad had fallen sometime in the middle of the night.

After much coercion from all ends of the spectrum, we had finally convinced my Dad to go to the ER to get checked out. After all, he’s been on blood-thinners since his heart surgery close to three years ago.

Amongst other things that happened since yesterday morning, I now find myself back in Detroit (as of yesterday evening), spending my time in the ICU keeping my Dad company.

I’ll be honest and say that I’m quite petrified; especially since my Dad hasn’t “woken” up since being brought to the ER. The prognosis is not good and I’m trying to brace myself for what might be the worse scenario. And on top of that, I’m trying desperately to be both realistic and brave … things that people have told me I am when it comes down to the wire.

Except I may look and act that way on the outside; but internally … I’m more emotional than realistic. And I’m definitely more scared than I am brave.

Please … please keep my Dad in your thoughts and prayers today. And please … please help me find the strength to get me through these days.

After all, I’ve already gone through one loss this week … I don’t know how I would survive another.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Related Posts:

No More Rain

Mended Hearts