Listening To: Amazing Grace
Word of the Day: There are no words.
26 years ago, my father passed away in our home. I had just woken up for school, starting to mentally prepare to face the day when a crash happened. I sat stunned unable to move, dreading what it was, knowing what it was.
My father had broken his leg a month before, and unbeknownst to us, a blood clot had been slowly working its way up his leg. We had no idea the bruise on his thigh was what was going to kill him. That crash and my mother's wail when she opened the door and found him will always be with me. I still couldn't move.
Disbelief set in first. Disbelief that a man I had grown to despise was dead. He was the hardest man I've ever met. Borderline cruel. Mentally abusive, verbally abusive, and he was dead. The coroner said it was instantaneous, and I believe him. It happened so quickly. There was no way to bring him back, the clot had destroyed his heart.
Then guilt kicked in. Guilt that I had hated him, guilt that I didn't know he was going to die. Guilt that I'd fought back with words and anger so many times.
Then the numbness kicked in. The lack of emotion that descended upon me was...I don't even know how to describe it. I guess it was shock. I had to keep going. Everyone told me I had to be strong, and support my mother, and man up. I couldn't show grief outwardly, it wasn't the male thing to do.
When we were getting ready for the funeral, I remember my Grandfather standing in our En Suite. We were all leaving from my house. He cut himself shaving. A man whose hands had always been steady and sure, wasn't steady and sure. I had to be strong for him too. I was the one who always had to be strong. But no one was there to be strong for me. At 15, I had already taken up the mantle of the one that helped and steadied people. The elders in the family expected me to help care for them. And that was before my dad had died.
My mom's sister. My favourite Aunt came up, and she was the first one to say that it was bullshit that I had to be strong. But I didn't believe her. I faced it all with a stone face and a stone heart. I didn't allow myself to shed a tear for years. My mom was in deep shock for 4 years. Numb as I was, but not able to function as well. I picked up the pieces and kept everything together. Anyone needed anything, it was my job to ensure it was dealt with.
When she got sick a few years later, it fell to me to do all the home care. I dropped out of college, and dealt. For 22 years I dealt, until she passed.
I have love around me, and I wasn't alone in caring for my mom in the last 9 years of her life. I had people around me that cared, and helped, and put things together when I couldn't. When I finally let myself feel again. And they are still around me, and there is more light in my life than I probably deserve.
I still have times when the emotions shut down, or I turn them off. Because that's how I deal with my own stuff. But at least I have those around me that can lure me back out of the darkness. And though I don't say it to them often enough, they mean the world to me.
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