New Year

I thought I'd be so happy to see this year end. It was an awful year of pain and suffering and loss. I thought I'd be the first to cheer. But as the day grew closer, I realized I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to move into a new year in which my Dad would never be. I'm not ready to let go of the last year he was in our lives. I'm not sure I'm ready to face a whole new year of milestones and events that will not include him. New house, my husband's possible promotions, my son's latest and greatest. A whole year full that he won't share.

I'm mere months away from the first anniversary of the whole saga. They found the tumor on St Patrick's Day. I can't believe we are so close to a year later. I'll be moving into my new house 6 months, almost to the day, of losing Dad. We were so excited to be moving closer to home. We were going to see so much more of my family, of Dad. My son was going to get to spend more time with Papa. When he got sick, they told us, a year, a year plus with treatment. We got three months. Mentally, I'm still in that year time frame. He should still be here. We were supposed to have more time.

So I'm not really ready for 2009. I don't feel much like celebrating. I'm hoping for a better 2009. This one didn't lack for love, but I'm hoping for more joy.

The Room is Spinning

I think I'm dealing with missing my Dad much the way I try to deal with having far too much to drink. I walk around trying to pretend that I'm fine, everything is okay. Nothing to see here. I don't like being vulnerable and I don't like making mistakes, so I move very carefully. But, eventually, I start to get overwhelmed. Like when you get to the point where you know, eventually, you're going to be sick. But you try to stave it off. You try to breathe through it. You try to distract yourself. Unfortunately, it is inevitable. You will be sick, you will start to cry. And in both cases, you are afraid to start because you know it is going to hurt, and you don't know if you are going to be able to stop. And you know that, if you don't feel better when you do, finally, stop, it is just going to happen again.

Theoretical Money

My husband is in charge of our investments. He likes money, he'd like to have more money. He also understands and enjoys reading a prospectus. Whereas my eyes glaze over three sentences in-and forget the charts. So I let him investigate, then he gives me the possible plans, pros and cons, and we make a decision.

A year or so ago, an opportunity presented itself in the form of a former military colleague. This was someone we considered a friend and we'd kept in general touch with him after he left the service. We have lots of common friends from our former station together and we were all currently living in the same area. This guy was now working for a venture capitalist and he had an opportunity for us and our friends to get in on the ground floor as a group (the guys actually basically formed up a trifecta) on a large investment that would normally be out of reach. The guys, who are admittedly more well-versed in finance than I, felt it was a great opportunity and a good risk. When my husband presented it to me he was enthusiastic. It was a significant amount of money for us, but it would come out of what we considered "investment accounts" and not our daily household operating money. I asked him, "What if we loose it all?" He told me that we would remake the amount of money into those accounts during his deployment with his extra pays (ie. hazardous duty pay). He thought it was a fairly safe calculated risk. I was a little nervous about mixing friendships and money, but I agreed and kept largely out of it.

Money changed hands and our trifecta was having trouble getting the documentation they wanted about where the money was and what their stake was. Then my husband deployed and my Dad got sick and I forgot all about it.

Fast forward to this October. Hubby and I both return home with a housekeeping list. He had been trying, throughout deployment, to get in touch with our friend and the main investment guy to get answers, to no avail. Once he was back in town, he teamed up with the other trifecta members and they began to push in concert. Now, as a side note, none of these men in the trifecta are the type of guys you would immediately describe as "easy-going", you'd be more likely to say they are great guys, "but..." and there would be a qualifier about anger management or not wanting to be on their bad side. So there was a long meeting and some pointed phone calls and threats of the activation of lawyers. And then there were more promises of paperwork and clarification. But they got nowhere. Money was not where it was supposed to be. They were invested with people who didn't know the money was from them, in other cases. Licenses were questioned. There was much confusion and unpleasantness.

So a lawyer was retained. And she sent some scathing letters that resulted in more promises of restitution and paperwork by certain deadlines. The deadline came but only brought a rebuttal letter from yet another attorney for the other side. By now, my husband is not sleeping and is working up a good ulcer and snapping at the boy and I. He has no desire to enter into a protracted and expensive legal battle, throwing good money after bad. One member of the trifecta agrees but the other wants to go after the venture capitalist and choke him with his last nickel, if necessary. More long talks ensue and the husband grows ever more testy. I tell him, listen, the money is gone. If we get some back, great, but make peace with the fact that it is gone and make your decisions from there.

The next morning, amidst trying to get paperwork put together for a rental application across the country, he ran home to sign things and ended up shouting at our son and being very short with me. He went back to work and I went to the gym. I was not happy and basically worked up what I was going to say to him that night while I was running on the treadmill. Then he left me a message apologizing, which took some of the wind out of my sails, but didn't mean I didn't have something to say later. The boy and I got a full apology later that night and he explained that the perfect storm of investment stress, work stupidity and moving stress all converged moments before he left to run home that morning. It was not his finest hour. But later that day, he had a long talk with the more reasonable member of the trifecta and gained some perspective and peace.

And then I had my say. I told him:
-The money is gone. It sucks, but it's gone. But it was only theoretical money anyway. It was never in our hands. He still has his job, we have a home. We won't have to live on Top Ramen. Nothing really bad has happened to us.

-All he's been guilty of so far is a poor character judgement call. He thought he could trust our friend and trusted his judgement about the venture capitalist. I told him he did know what to do, despite his protests otherwise. He wasn't going to get into a protracted legal battle and waste more money and energy. I told him I thought this was as much about his pride as it was about the money. I told him not to let hubris cloud his judgement.

-I told him that when it comes right down to it, it's just money. It doesn't really matter in the end. When my Dad was so sick, I would have hocked all my jewelry and cashed out my IRA if that was what it took to get Dad to Vermont one last time. But whether I had $2000, $40,000 or $800,000, it didn't matter. Dad was too sick to go anywhere. No amount of money could make that wish come true and it certainly couldn't save his life. The money isn't important.

And he agreed. In fact, he'd been thinking of my Dad earlier that afternoon and realized the same thing after his calming chat. And so, we're going to see what the lawyer can settle for us, and we're walking away.

And the sky won't fall.

And we won't starve.

And we're still going to be better off than more than half the people in this country who are struggling so much this year.

And it isn't the end of the world.

It was only theoretical money anyway.

Thanksgiving

I have not really been looking forward to the holidays this year. I know they are going to be difficult. But, for once, I think the universe may be conspiring to help me in a most backhanded fashion. The universe has decided to keep me too busy and tired to think this holiday season. Which should make it simply fly by.

This week, my son developed a second round of ear infection. I've spent most of the last two days holding and consoling him. On Tuesday, while I was counting the minutes until our doctor's appointment, my husband received a call letting him know that he's got the new job he was shooting for. He has to report to the new station, on the other side of the country, by the end of January. Yes, this upcoming January. While this is good news, it also means we'll have Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, packers, and a drive across our great nation in the middle of winter. All in the next 8 weeks.

That therapist I was referred to has been playin phone tag with me for a week or so now. She caught me yesterday and I explained my situation. I told her I wondered if it was worth starting with her if I'm leaving momentarily. She agreed it was frustrating to start with someone and then start all over again a few weeks later. We agreed that I can call her back if I need an ear before I go. I don't even have time for therapy. Seriously.

Two things that have made me sad this week:
-I was walking up to some local shops to do some Christmas shopping and realized again that I don't need a gift for Dad this year. He used to be so hard to buy for. I had finally figured out some sure-fire winners last year. And now he's gone. My Christmas gift list has shrunk.
-Today my son was talking about doing something back at my Mom's house. As though we were headed there for an event (he likes to make up stories now). He said to me, "You and me and Grandma and Papa... (pause) Papa's at Heaven. Grandma and Joseph and Miss Kathy and Mr. Richie will all go."

We are spending Thanksgiving with wonderful friends tomorrow. I made potatoes and pie and muffins to bring along. Dad loved apple pie. But he liked it cold. With ice cream. So I'll think of him when I eat mine tomorrow.

I have so many things for which to be thankful. My sadness hasn't erased those things. It has made them more precious. I am thankful for that this year.

The Unexpected

I went to get my blood labs done yesterday as part of my physical. My doctor sent me over to the local hospital; 8 blocks away, easy stuff. The husband was home in the AM as he was working late so he took command of the Boy. I ran over quickly before we had to head to the gym. I have never been in this particular hospital before so, I parked my car and wandered into the first building I came to. But that one was the medical building, not the hospital proper. I walked across the courtyard into the actual hospital and nearly stopped short.

I think it was the smell that did it. I was instantly shoved right back to visiting Dad in the hospital and I freaked out a little. I immediately teared up and had to control my breathing. I walked up the hall into the lab and managed to keep myself in check while having my blood drawn. The woman who poked me was lovely and I think took my agitation as a part of my need not to look at the needle in my arm. She chatted with me to keep me distracted and we were done in minutes. By the time I got back down the hall and out the door, I was practically crying. I had to sit in the car to regain my composure.

We were in the military hospital last Tuesday because the little guy had a double ear infection. I had no problem there, so this really caught me by surprise. Like I said, I think it was the smell. And the door I walked in was right by the chapel and serenity garden. The chapel at Dad's hospital was right in the main hallway, you had to walk past it every time you came to visit. I never expected to feel returned to that place so physically. I wonder when the unsexpected things will stop hurting so much.

Scattered Showers

I find myself crying or tearing up at random moments. Sometimes while I'm running at the YMCA, a song on my Ipod or a random thought will set me off. Laying in bed at night I'll find the tears raining down. The other night, reading to my son got me started. I was partway through a story and it made me think of Thanksgiving. We'll be spending it with friends and I started to think about what I have to be thankful for this year. And I started to cry. It isn't that I don't have anything to be thankful for; I am blessed. It's just that all of those things still feel overwhelmed by the loss of my Dad. I wonder when I will feel less sad. But I'm not really sure what will take the place of all my sadness. Last week was a tough one for me. I was feeling lonely and a bit lost. But this weekend was full of friends and I felt a little more like I belonged where I was. We'll move in the next few months and I wonder if I'm prepared to be uprooted again.

I was recently chatting online with my friend who lost her partner last month. We were talking about how we were doing and what we had been through. I was explaining about watching my folks loose one another as it happened and she said I must be very strong. And I responded that being strong is over-rated. I often feel like I am the rock around which all the unrest swirls. I'm sure some of this is self-imposed, but I also feel as though it is expected of me by others. This same friend told me that she often felt it was easier to discuss her loss with people who didn't know her partner. And I told her that the problem with people who are connected to the person you lost is that you must bear their pain as well as your own. At least, that is how I have felt. When I was home, I didn't feel like I could really let go and fully succumb to my sadness because others needed me to be strong. I was afraid that if I fell apart that they would either a) panic, or b) fall apart as well and I'd end up comforting them. So it just seemed easier to comfort others and assume I could fit my mourning into the evenings and slow times. Which is mostly what I did. Once I returned to my own home, I found that it wasn't any easier to talk about it.

I have spoken with some lovely friends here about those months and some of what I went through. But I try not to get too worked up. Partly because I'm not often in an appropriate setting for that kind of thing: a party where someone asks, "How are you doing?" is not a time for a weep fest. Some of these friends are wonderful but not the kind of close friends I feel comfortable dumping upon. And most everyone here has their own problems to worry about. No one really wants to hear any more about my poor Dad. Not that I think people don't care, but it is off their radar since they are not connected to the situation. And, honestly, I'm not always so sad. It comes and goes. And many times when I most want someone to talk to, no one is available. Plus, I don't want to turn into that woman who is such a downer- always talking about her problems and her depression and how hard her life is these days. Does anyone really like that woman? She's exhausting. She exhausts me.

So, today, when I saw my doctor for my physical, I asked about talking to a mental health professional. She asked me a few questions about how I'm feeling and agreed to refer me to someone. I assured her I don't feel tempted to drive into bridge abutments, I just think I might benefit from talking to someone impartial. It's been a tough year. I could use some help doing the heavy lifting to sort it all out. I don't really want to pack up all of this baggage in our next move.

Off the Beaten Track

We've been back almost a month now and while on the surface everything looks normal and like we are moving ahead. I feel like I'm swirling around most days. My schedule helps and I'm getting things done, but I feel disconnected or removed. It's worst at night. I am back to not sleeping. I spend many hours on the couch staring at the TV or ignoring it in a quest for rest.

I have a friend I recently got back in touch with who also, even more recently, lost her partner of 7 years to a brain aneurysm. She started a blog and her pain seems like the only thing that makes sense to me some days. Basically no one here knew my Dad and so life has not changed for them with his death. It's almost like the whole block of time doesn't exist here. I've been feeling right along that my 7 months home were out of regular time. Being back here at my own house has only reinforced that feeling.

Sometimes my son is the only thing that seems real in my daily life. And I feel liek a waver between holding on to him and being exhausted by him. He's only 3 and isn't responsible for me. But, bless him, he gives shape to my days.

I'm just so tired, I can't rest and nothing in my head will settle. It is a dust storm in there, a tornado. And I don't expect to land in Oz.