Thursday, July 19, 2007

Death of "Pop" hitting me hard

Am I the only one who is being hit hard with Dad's death? I am balling my eyes out right now. For three days I could not get out of bed, though I did for short periods. Was it strep throat or my grief? Is it just because I am an unmedicated manic depressive or what? I feel so lost and so alone though I am not. There is a hole in my heart that will never be filled. There does not seem to be anything that can distract me from the pain. I try to be busy, do things but it all seems so hollow. The weather echoes my mood with long quiet rains and occasional thunder and lightning. It hurts so much.

1 comment:

gdeecee said...

I don't believe you're the only one. I think we are all struggling, although in different ways.
What keeps me going, mostly on automatic, is the necessity of dealing with Ian's and Jeanette's needs, and of making arrangements to honor our dear father (which got a bit more complicated yesterday, but I think I've worked things out).
I have been having a hard time sorting out my feelings about things and my normal clarity in making decisions is very hard to come by, every day. I have not yet found the time to have a really good cry, but at times I can't keep from crying. I need a long walk . . . no, I need several.
It has been therapeutic for me, while waiting for the boys at Camp Harley to go to sleep, to read _Lincoln's Melancholy_ that Sherm loaned me. The book talks about how creative people often have melancholy thread in their lives, and how different people deal with melancholy.
Time alone interspersed with time with intimates, fresh air, and exercise seem to be the non-clinical things that are effective. I recommend them, along with good music, highly.
It does hurt.
But it helps to talk with people like Bill MacCrea, who told me how much he respects the SDBs he has known, because they have never pushed their faith on him. When Bill's son died, he asked Hurley Warren to do the memorial, because of his respect for him. He said he felt the same way about Dad, and I told him how his aunt and her boys went swimming at "The Ledges" with Roberta, Kenyon and Dad, back in the 1930s. Uncle K had been mortified that his big sister had stripped to her underwear (which probably covered her from nape to ankles, anyway) to swim with them. Bill is checking to see if his grandson can play the bagpipes for the memorial. What would we like him to play?