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.