Today, I thought I was doing really well. I laid out all the cards and donations that people have made to Cancer Services and my daughter Madison's school. I thoughtfully began to write thank-yous. Then, I realized there were two types of thank you notes and I was writing on the ones to the pallbearers. Hours of work down the drain, and I just had to put it aside and stop.
Sometimes, I feel like I am ready to go back to work, to see people, to become part of a community again. Then, I realize that even the smallest thing such as grocery shopping takes everything out of me. My dear husband watches me carefully, makes sure I go to bed when he sees me crashing, leaves me love notes when he goes to work in the morning. He is a true blessing to me.
I call my sisters daily, and it's the same thing....sometimes we can talk and sometimes we can't. The silence in the house is at once deafening and comforting at the same time. I need time to heal, and I can't rush that. I feel like God gave me the most amazing gift to be able to walk through the last 9 months of my Dad's life with him. I was drawn into his world, met his friends, learned his routine.
I find myself calling David Daddy sometimes, just because it was the two of us a lot. My sisters came, but their visits had to be limited. Lori is taking care of our mother who has Alzheimer's, and Lynn has two young daughters.
I dream about Dad every night. I'm sure that will begin to happen less and less. And, sooner or later, the pain will lessen. But right now, I feel like I have a boulder on my chest and I can't breathe. He was our anchor, our rock, our glue that held the family together. I'm not sure we know yet how to go on without him. We will figure it out, but right now, it's too raw....too fresh. Too lonely.