Mental health is a fickle bitch. I’m on top of this though. I’m going to let it do its thing. I’m not going to hold back and I’m not going to judge myself.
A 327 day journey ended in 49 seconds. I could see his face in my daydreams. Chubby cheeks and jet black hair. I imagined his weight, I could feel him. Nursing him. His smell. Bathing him. He existed. In our hearts and in a Petri dish. Two of them. Boys.
Have you ever read the poem IF by Kipling? You should. It is powerful. My brother shared it with me during a difficult time many years ago and I have read it countless times. A copy hangs on my fridge and at my desk at work. It’s malleable; applying to a myriad of challenges. It is motivational. And positive.
If you can fill the unforgiving minute, With sixty seconds worth of distance run.
That is how I’ve felt as of late. I’ve been filling a lot of unforgiving minutes. I’ve not made time to write because life seems busier for some reason. And I’m making a lot of adjustments. My routine is being redesigned and I’ve not found the space where writing fits in.
It’s a slow rise. One that I am attentively attending to. I anticipated the hard fall. Although I did not anticipate the fall to be as hard as it was. I was prepared for the days that followed. A dear friend of mine loving referred to my journey after my father died as a Forced Rebirth; calling April 7th my Forced Rebirth Day. I’ve embraced that. I’m finding great comfort in it. And in my self-care, I am celebrating it. My life is so very different now. And out of that sadness I have managed to sow a seed of compassion and understanding for myself.
I awoke to swollen eyes. Lids so tight. Like a pressure cooker on high. Blinking took less effort. Eyes were barely open. Sinuses full with equal pressure. My heart feeling as heavy as anvil. I miss him.
That was a lot of tears. The sad heavy kind. The kind that flow with no control, a deep ache within. Arms extended to receive a hug that isn’t there.
The anniversary of my dad’s passing is on the horizon and the sun is setting painfully slow. I don’t cry a lot but I should. Continue reading “this is anxiety”
You can read about the books here.
This is my favorite note.
This is the note that splits my emotional atoms in two; he is both here and not. I am happy to have the note but sad to not have him. This is also the note that reminds me how important words of praise are to our children. Genuine words. Not a reply to a child’s prompt. But a praise that comes out of nowhere. Those are the ones that stick with us. I need to do more of that.
I think of him every day. When I look in the mirror in the morning I think of him… because I look like him. His hair, his nose and his chin. I think of him when nature is looking exceptionally beautiful. He loved nature. I feel like he’s part of the nature that surrounds me. When I admire the beauty of a tree blooming from its winter sleep, I am with him.
My dad would write a note each morning. To us. He believed in Mornings. In the note he greeted us, individually by name or as a whole. He’d remind us to have a great day, to “smile large”, he might wish my brother or me good luck on some endeavor or give us the low down on the day’s weather. He almost always drew a smiley face.