Yesterday marked 8 weeks since my dad passed away. These 8 weeks have been filled with heartache, smiles, overwhelming sadness, gratitude, pure joy, anger, and anxiety. I think this is what they call grief.
Since his death, I have feverishly prayed every night for my dad to come to me in a dream. He finally did last Saturday and it was wonderful and horrible all at once. Dreams are weird and scattered, so I will save you the odd details, but basically it went like this:
My son peeked around some curtains and told me Grandpa was here to visit. He had this crazy smile on his face, and of course I start fussing at him and telling him that is nothing to joke about. When I opened the curtain, my dad was there. He was sitting in a folding chair, wearing a black motorcycle shirt and jeans. There was another folding chair next to him, and I slowly went to sit beside him. In that dream like way, I reached out my hand to touch him, to see if he was real. He answered my touch and said, “It’s me. It’s real.” I stared at him with tearing streaming down my face and he said, “Do you know how many times the sun goes around…..” In the middle of him talking I hugged him really tight and started bawling.
I woke up. I ran into the bathroom so I could write everything down because I was so afraid I would forget. On the way back from the bathroom, I pretty much lost it. I could barely even make it back to the bed because I was so overcome with emotions. I was wailing. I wanted him to finish his question. I wanted to hug him again. I wanted to go back to the dream. I want him to be alive again.
This dream shook me up in ways I don’t even understand. The next morning, I could barely speak. I told my husband the details of my dream, and told my kids the highlights. (By the way, I am totally owning my emotions in front of my children. There is no pretending to be anything around here. I am human and my dad died. They need to see what this looks/feels like.) I could not speak without completely hunching over in tears and heartache, so I sent them on to church without me. I cried, showered, cried, watched a movie, and made more coffee and scrambled eggs.
A sweet friend who lost her mom almost a year ago sent me this and resonate really well with me. I certainly am not ready to “get over” my grief, although that was a suggestion from an acquaintance. (obviously she has not experienced grief and was also born without a heart.)
How am I healing and rebuilding myself?
- I am taking care of myself.
- I am honest about the way I feel. I feel my feelings. If I am sad, I don’t try to not be sad. I am just sad.
- I am still going to Carolina Sweat, and I finally made it through my first yoga class this week. I am eating the way my body works the best. (no sugar, flour, wheat.
- I write in my gratitude journal. I pray. I reach out to others who have experienced this. I write Love Letters.
- I have seen two intuitive workers and had energy work done, and gotten some answers. This has helped immensely. I feel peaceful, serene, and filled up. The rest of my dad’s question? It’s my face. Yep. “Do you know how many times the sun goes around your face?”
- I buy myself new shoes, dresses, new yoga pants and new elephant earrings. I get manicures and pedicures. I go out to lunch with friends almost every single day. When lunch doesn’t work we do wine, sushi, and discussions at The Bag Lady.
- I teach people how to get upside down in their yoga practice. I just signed up for another workshop in March so I can learn more about inversions. I am learning Reiki and energy healing. I am co-hosting SIX retreats in 2015. (details next post, I promise!)
- I am surrounding myself with people who know what this is like. I actually like to talk about it. It is interesting the people who become your friend in a time of grief. And then there are others who just don’t get it. I can’t help but feel miffed when one person who I thought was a dear friend hasn’t said one word. Nothing. When strangers are hugging me. Or the ones that have just moved on and forgotten that I am still so heartbroken. I don’t blame them. They don’t get it….I didn’t get it. Until you take a ride on this roller coaster, you are just waiting in line, unaware of the how tight the harness is on your chest. (Here is a clue…that harness is so tight and heavy as shit.) You CANNOT lift it. It is literally hard to breathe.
New pants/new shoes
Elephant earrings. Sitting on my Desire Map Planner.
A job I love. Second Inversion Workshop at The Cornwell Center. Don’t worry…there will be a third one in May!