Fathers Day

I guess I haven't opened myself up completely in this blog. Not sure why. Not like very many people read it...and those who do, aren't familiar with my life. A couple of years ago, my father told the family of his disease. Pulmonary fibrosis. The outcome? Eventual death, absolute, 3-6 years. But the anticipated amount of time we thought we had left with him was 5 years. (What we all probably actually thought was ten...at least I did. My mother was only given a few years at 18, but she persevered through 54.) Last September, after starting my new job, my step-mother called me. In hysterics. My father was in an accident. Given his other ailments and the fact that he had a rather large gash in his head, we didn't know how much longer we had with him. When I entered the room, he lay in a bloody mess on the hospital bed. Doctors and nurses diligently doing their duty, checking tubes, checking bandages. My father was awake but weak. I remember he kept telling my step-mom "Sorry, I'm so sorry" over and over again. We didn't think he'd make it through the night. But his surgeons were amazing. Although he had cracked ribs, punctured lungs, infection, they managed to keep him in ICU for a month. It was a horrendous month. We all wanted to help my dad. Because of his lungs, they couldn't completely knock him out. So instead they had him moderately relaxed and out of it. Tubes were coming out of his mouth. It looked horrendous. We sat by his side every day, and let him sleep at night. Eventually they fixed him up but he still had a trach. It was likely that he wouldn't ever get off a ventilator, but everyone was still optimistic. The night they transferred him to long term acute care, he passed. His heart wasn't strong enough. He passed away without anyone being there. My step-mother said it was most likely the way he would have wanted to go. I agreed at the time, but thinking of my own passing now...I don't know. Once my father passed away, I mentioned taking his ashes and spreading them in Montana. He loved Montana...the mountains...the fresh air. My step-mother and the family had agreed saying they had already discussed it. I was told I would be kept in the loop for plans. Months passed. Eventually I asked my step-mother what they were thinking of doing. To my astonishment, I was told that plans had already been made. I wasn't approached because they weren't sure if I could come "with work and all." I was crushed. I didn't let on though. Apparently they had chosen to mourn together. I wasn't invited. All the years of frustration and hurt slowly came bubbling up again. I thought I was only crushed a little. Then the realization came that their trip was during Fathers Day. The first Fathers Day after my fathers passing. No one called or texted. I lashed out. I yelled at my husband and my roommate that week. I was hurt. I still am. I don't know what I hope to accomplish with this entry. A venting? A record? Who knows. Hopefully, this will allow me to move forward and start patching up my life again. I sound so dramatic, but in all honesty I've been a shambles the past few weeks...I can't trust anyone. I can't let them in. I'm afraid of being hurt again...as everyone is I suppose. But I must find my way to trust and to love again. To realize that what others do and say doesn't really matter. The good stuff does, but only I have to power to let the bad stuff hurt me. I choose happiness.

Mindfulness

Today I'm going to try to be more mindful. I always rush everywhere with everything. It's a habit, and admittedly something I'm proud of. Not a lot of people would probably tell you that. I'm a staright up Type A, OCD personality. I wasn't always this way. You see, society groomed me to be so. Even with their articles about Type A personalities suffering from burn out and heart attacks, Type As are really what they want. Want the best job? Work long hours, be the best at what your at, be fast. Want the first ticket? The first spot in line? The best seat? Be competitive. You want the best? Then you have to be first! It's not easy for me to slow down. I feel antsy. Like I'm being lazy. I can see all the spots in the house that need to be cleaned. My to do list growing. My work begging to be worked. The only time I really relax is when watching a show I enjoy...Game of Thrones, the latest Harry Potter movie. Bath? I don't have one. Not in our shower anyway. And to take one in the guest bathroom would require schlepping everything over. Doing my nails? I need money and time to do that. Massage? Time and money again. Amy, why don't you sit quietly in your room and read a book? Okay, so in order to sit quietly in my room your going to assume that (a) I won't fall asleep and (b) my son and my husband will say something like "I totally understand, go get yourself some quiet time." I know....excuses, excuses. But doing things on my checklist make me feel better. It helps me relax. It burns calories. It gets things done. BTW, have an appointment to see the cardiologist in July.

No time!

I feel like the rabbit in Wonderland sometimes. I start a blog entry, get distracted by something that HAS to be done, then lose my momentum when I return back to it (minutes or hours later.) I had this marvelous idea for a blog entry yesterday. Yesterday, I visited the rheumatologist. I'd been worrying about this appointment. In the end, he told me what I had suspected all along. My CRP levels aren't rheumatoid related, they're heart related. All my burger king croissanwiches and frappuccinnos have caught up with me. I'm not the unhealthiest eater around, but I'm not the best either. In a way, when they tell me I don't have some major debilitating illness, I feel almost sad. Why? Because both of my parents suffered from horribleness. I saw my mom suffer for most of my life. My father I watched slowly fade away before the abrupt accident that took him from us. Now I suffer from paranoia that when I go into the dr's office next, I will be diagnosed with some similar illness. Then when I'm given the all clear (come 'on, being told I probably have clogged arteries while still having a normal chol and blood pressure reading, is not an issue, it's just a lifestyle change), I feel guilty. I feel bad that my parents had to suffer. That I could do nothing for them. That I wasn't there more. And in a way, suffering myself would be penance for all the times I wished I was there to take the burden from them. I know my parents would not feel the same way. They'd tell me to rejoice and live life to the fullest. Even though both of them had been sick, they both lived every day to the fullest and most enjoyable (that they could.) Well, looks like work is calling again....

Raising myself up a bit

Since my father died (and my mother), I've had a difficult time being happy. I feel guilty. Like I should just continually mourn both of them passing so young. On that same note, I don't really feel great about myself. My self-esteem is low...I think all in an effort to keep myself humble and not happy. Comfortable, but not happy, or least not estatic. So this is an effort to see myself in a better light. Ways I'm as good as I don't think I am: - I help more than I think - We pay for my grandmas phone every month without thinking of it - We pay for my Riddles grandma's phone every month without thinking of it - We support two friends without any financial obligations or expectations - We usually take our friends out, paying for meals or admissions - We usually include everyone and attempt to make everyone happy - I bake every one cakes - I'm an accomplished, sought out analyst and programmer (I've had one job made for me, and three bidding wars.) - I seek knowledge to understand. - I found my soulmate and I'm very happy with him - I have a great kid - I have a Masters degree - I've won city wide competitions for speeches - I was there for both my father and mother passing