melancholy
Growing up, if any of us used the word "melancholy" my dad would say "Yup. Head like a melon; face like a collie." He wasn't politically correct, my old man, and sometimes he could be rather insensitive, but he still makes me smile.
I'm really missing Pa this week. I think it's because I've closed out the estate bank account and distributed the last of the worldly goods. It seems pretty final, as if he ain't coming back (which he ain't). Somehow, getting his bank statement every month made it seem less permanent, I think.
I met with a friend today who shared with me a little about how she and her sister each dealt with the death of their father. Her sister needed time and quiet to process, and ended up reevaluating a lot about her life. I think my friend did also, just in a different way. It was really helpful to have someone who understood where I'm at, and more importantly, to tell me it was okay. It was something I really needed to hear. I feel like folks are sympathetic, and can understand that work was really stressful and it affected me physically, and therefore can support my taking some time off. But they always ask, so when are you going back? or do you want to do X in order to keep you busy? How can I explain that the stress of work was just the proverbial back-breaking straw? That the death of both my grandmothers and my dad within a few months was huge, that trying to come to some sort of grip on my dad's death has caused a crisis of faith. Work, as important as it is, isn't life and it can't be my soul.
So how do I nurture my soul without my dad? The irony is that in a lot of ways my old man wasn't a nurturing soul himself. His own soul was tortured, I think, and his inability to really connect with his family tortured us and him as well. Maybe I'm just going through the clich´e, mid-life questioning that comes with watching someone die unfulfilled and unhappy?
So all of this has led me to being melancholy. I'm in my pajamas at 5:00, pouring a glass of wine into a coffee mug and just feeling blue. Part of me can detach, and rationally analyze the whole event from stimulus (closing account) to action (realizing the finality) to the response (melancholia). It's very scientific and interesting. I can pontificate on the grieving process, my role as oldest child and executor, and the inevitability of death. It is something that I would find intriguing to watch in someone else. But for me, it just sucks. I want to yell, and cry, and grab my kids and hug so hard they squeal. I don't want to be sad, and I don't want this to be happening to me. So I guess I'm pissed off too.
So, as cheesy as it sounds, I ask myself what my father would tell me. When I was young and wanted to play hockey and ended up changing in bathrooms because I was the only girl and couldn't have a locker room, he would say "A woman has to work twice as hard as a man to be considered half as good. Fortunately, it's not too hard." He always believed in me, told me to go for it, and understood that I had to live a deliberate life. He rescued me when I needed it, picked me up no matter how belligerent I was, and told it like it was even if I didn't want to hear it. So I think he's say, "Take you time and figure it out. Do what you need to do for you and your family and don't let anyone tell you different." He would understand where I'm at, and he's understand the time and emotional energy I need to spend getting a grip on all of this.
I think that, like me, my Pa was better at analyzing and understanding other folks' issues than dealing with his own. Maybe it's my tribute to him that I'm not going to distance myself from my crisis, I'm going to deal with it straight up.
Head like a melon.....
I'm really missing Pa this week. I think it's because I've closed out the estate bank account and distributed the last of the worldly goods. It seems pretty final, as if he ain't coming back (which he ain't). Somehow, getting his bank statement every month made it seem less permanent, I think.
I met with a friend today who shared with me a little about how she and her sister each dealt with the death of their father. Her sister needed time and quiet to process, and ended up reevaluating a lot about her life. I think my friend did also, just in a different way. It was really helpful to have someone who understood where I'm at, and more importantly, to tell me it was okay. It was something I really needed to hear. I feel like folks are sympathetic, and can understand that work was really stressful and it affected me physically, and therefore can support my taking some time off. But they always ask, so when are you going back? or do you want to do X in order to keep you busy? How can I explain that the stress of work was just the proverbial back-breaking straw? That the death of both my grandmothers and my dad within a few months was huge, that trying to come to some sort of grip on my dad's death has caused a crisis of faith. Work, as important as it is, isn't life and it can't be my soul.
So how do I nurture my soul without my dad? The irony is that in a lot of ways my old man wasn't a nurturing soul himself. His own soul was tortured, I think, and his inability to really connect with his family tortured us and him as well. Maybe I'm just going through the clich´e, mid-life questioning that comes with watching someone die unfulfilled and unhappy?
So all of this has led me to being melancholy. I'm in my pajamas at 5:00, pouring a glass of wine into a coffee mug and just feeling blue. Part of me can detach, and rationally analyze the whole event from stimulus (closing account) to action (realizing the finality) to the response (melancholia). It's very scientific and interesting. I can pontificate on the grieving process, my role as oldest child and executor, and the inevitability of death. It is something that I would find intriguing to watch in someone else. But for me, it just sucks. I want to yell, and cry, and grab my kids and hug so hard they squeal. I don't want to be sad, and I don't want this to be happening to me. So I guess I'm pissed off too.
So, as cheesy as it sounds, I ask myself what my father would tell me. When I was young and wanted to play hockey and ended up changing in bathrooms because I was the only girl and couldn't have a locker room, he would say "A woman has to work twice as hard as a man to be considered half as good. Fortunately, it's not too hard." He always believed in me, told me to go for it, and understood that I had to live a deliberate life. He rescued me when I needed it, picked me up no matter how belligerent I was, and told it like it was even if I didn't want to hear it. So I think he's say, "Take you time and figure it out. Do what you need to do for you and your family and don't let anyone tell you different." He would understand where I'm at, and he's understand the time and emotional energy I need to spend getting a grip on all of this.
I think that, like me, my Pa was better at analyzing and understanding other folks' issues than dealing with his own. Maybe it's my tribute to him that I'm not going to distance myself from my crisis, I'm going to deal with it straight up.
Head like a melon.....
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