I’m calling this “McCoy and Books.”
I’m pretty sure those two categories are at the top of my I Love list.
I’ve been crocheting for hours at a time – too many hours at a time. Yesterday, late in the afternoon, I realized that it was the 29th. Exactly one month since my father died. How is that possible? Late last night, as we were getting ready to go to sleep, I told Don that I realized that having my mom and dad still alive here on Earth made me feel safe. And now that they’re gone I didn’t feel safe anymore. Of course, I immediately qualified that statement by saying it was entirely different thing than the ‘safe’ I feel with Don. But I didn’t really need to say that, because he understood. The protection and safety I took for granted all these years has disappeared with the death of my dad.
Dear friends, I try to balance the content of my posts. One sad post must be counterbalanced by several happy, chatty posts. As a rule, this isn’t at all hard for me to do. I’m usually pretty cheery. But it is hard at the moment. I’ve lost both of my parents in the past eighteen months. We have a lot of worries that are ongoing. Scout gets frailer by the minute and I worry about her constantly. The realization that we will lose her at some point is staring me in the face.
I relive those last hours with Dad. I remember something I want to tell him and then realize that I can’t pick up the phone and call him. He sometimes drove me crazy, calling several times a day about some little thing he needed to tell me. Now, I’d give anything to pick up the phone and hear his voice. Isn’t that always the way? Yesterday, I had the thought that I needed to tell Dad that I’m working in Hartford in January. And then I remembered.
It’s good for me to write this and I can only ask your indulgence as I sometimes share my feelings. I’m crying as I type this and that’s good. I need to cry.
Right now, I feel lost and sad. Christmas holds very little appeal, though we’ll celebrate the season in a modified way that feels right for us.
That’s where I am, my friends. Thank you for being there.
I do have another scarf in the Etsy shop – the Obsession Scarf in Wildberries.
This is a photo of an earlier version of the scarf. Each one I make is individual because the placement of the colors within the skein changes. But the colors used remain the same. This will probably be the last one I will make in this colorway, so if you’re at all interested, I’d suggest you jump on it. Here’s the link.
Update: Sold! If you have a request, let me know.
Happy Monday.
i continue to pray that you, meredith and the rest of your family have peace. i hope you find more of that feeling of safety. and rest. that happier/easier times grow longer and you trust in God’s promises of eternal life …
the scarves are beautiful!
kathy
Thank you, Kathy.
just this….”hugs & hope”
Thank you, Cindy.
Just wanted to send a bunch of (((hugs)) your way. I know what your going through. I lost both of mine back in 1991 and 1993. They are still with you in your heart and memories and that you will always have. We are all here for you.
hugs
Thank you so much, Nancy.
Thinking of you. Give yourself all the time you need. No matter how old we are (I’m 64) we miss our parents. My Mom has been gone 11 years and my Dad 33 years and I still wish I could talk with them. I feel so fortunate to have had wonderful loving parents.
Me too, Liz. Thank you.
Claudia, your friends here understand your sadness and need to express it all. It’s what friends do for friends. My Dad has been gone 10 years and it will still hit me unexpectedly and I’ll tear up. I know that one day my Mom will join my Dad so I cherish all my time with her (even when she drives me nuts sometimes also). Allow yourself time and share what you are feeling, it helps. Lots of hugs for you, Don and Scout.
Linda
Thank you, dear Linda.
Grief is a process and each and every one of us deals with it differently. There’s no right or wrong. And to be honest with your feelings is the best thing you can do for yourself and others. You are not being indulgent. Just being real! Be good to yourself. Hugs and blessings, Tammy
Thank you, Tammy.
Claudia.I lost my husband before my parents and they were my rock and after they were gone I thought I know I will get through this. I went with the flow. Some days were really bad . Long walks helped and going to the library were there were books and people and lights. It never goes away but it gets better….Nidia
I’m so sorry for the loss of your husband and your parents, Nidia. Thank you for your kind words.
O’ Claudia, I can relate to this post so very well. I lost my oldest sister (and best friend) 6 months ago and still reach for the phone to call her at least once a day. In my mind I know that grief is a process that will take time – but, my heart is still broken and I miss her every day. I can’t speak for others, but as for me – I’m honored that you share your life (the good and the bad) with us thru your words and pictures. Sending prayers your way.
Thank you so much, Regina Anne. My sincere sympathies on the loss of your sister. xo
Good morning Claudia. My heart goes out to you. I lost my parents within days of each other when I was 29 years old and it’s not something you forget or get over quickly. I’m 55 now and to this day, my sister and I both pick up the phone to call our mother before we realize we can’t. As you well know, time does ease the grief. But meanwhile, we are here. We are your friends and very willing to listen to anything you have to say. So go ahead and cry dear Claudia, will be here to catch the tears.
Blessings, Betsy
Oh thank you so much, Betsy. I think you never stop wanting to speak with your loved ones after they have passed away. It’s so hard.
I keep thinking I need to call him and check on him. I know exactly how you feel.
Love you,
M
I know you do, sister, I know you do. xo
There is a verse in the book of John that says”I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you.” That verse has soothed me like no other !!
It is John 14:18
I know that verse, Karen. Thank you.
My Dad died 15 yrs ago and my Mom, 10. I still, always think “I should tell them this”… or “I should ask Mom”. It never goes away. So, then I just stop and have a chat with them!! Tell them what I wanted to share, or ask the question. It is so funny. When I “ask” the question, it usually is soon after that I find my answer. I choose to think it is one of life’s daily miracles. Just as in life, they are always with us.
One thing I hope is that those who read your post, and still have the opportunity, DO take it to heart and call their Mom or Dad, grandparent, sibling or best friend. Have a chat. And do it as often as you can. It is something that all of us who have gone through this will guarantee you won’t regret in the years to come. Life can change so quickly. Don’t take the time you have for granted.
And remember always, Claudia…that there is no timeline to when you might feel “normal” again. Because your life has changed. So now you have to find your new normal ~~ and that takes many years, not days. ♡
You’re so right. We hear that all the time, and we don’t always heed that advice. Call your loved ones! Thank you, Chris.
Every new day will bring new feelings and emotions to the surface. Just when we think we have a handle on the sadness, some small, simple thing will bring it all back again. I have had several public meltdowns because something brought me back immediately to a memory of my mother. It does get better with time- very slowly. I am keeping you in my prayers and sending wishes of peace.
Thank you so much, Liz.
I don’t handle grief well…I can become quite the basket case. I can cry at a moments notice, while thinking of a sweet memory or just because. What helps? Friends. Friends you can talk to, who will listen, who don’t judge. Grief is a process that’s different for all of us. We are here for you. We will help as best we can. ;)
Me too. I cry very easily. Thank you, Donnamae.
As a grief counselor and educator, I’d like to share with you that those who can let their feelings be expressed and are honest about the experience do far better than those who are silent and push their feelings down. Thinking of you Claudia as you work through the journey that is never easy, always changing but full of love for those you miss. Peace to you today.
Thank you for your words, Chy. It helps to hear them.
I had the same feeling of being bereft after my father died. My mother had been gone for many years (she died in her 40’s) and my Dad lived to be in his 80’s. He wasn’t capable of really doing anything for me and I did not need him to — it was just that knowing that my parent was there — the one who knew me from birth and I always trusted and one that always loved me even if he didn’t understand me all the time. That kind of “safety net” is different from the safety and security you feel with your husband or wife.
I know exactly how you feel about wanting to call and share something; I still have those moments after losing my son over two years ago. Because he was beset with a number of ailments for many years, we talked almost every day. It was a natural thing to do — it was a loving habit and we were very close. After he died I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I have a husband and a younger son who lives with us so my life is full and there is a lot for me to do, but all the love and energy I expended on my oldest now had no place to go.
Life goes on (oh, isn’t that trite, but true). It is finally feeling more “normal” but it will never be the same — and neither will I.
It’s just knowing they are there, you’re right, Ann. Thank you.
Thinking of you, Claudia. My Mom passed away in February 2013 and there are still many times I think to myself, ‘I must remember to tell Mom.’
I still miss her like mad, but I don’t cry quite as much as I did earlier on. I get choked up when I think back to Mom dying and that she felt bad that she was leaving me. Her birthday passed in November and my uncle would treat my Mom to a birthday trip to NY and I would meet them there; I have wonderful memories of going to museums, shows, restaurants, and the general silliness we had. With all the attention being paid to Hamilton, I have been wishing we could see it together.
Thank you, Tisha. I appreciate it.
Your life has changed; take all the time you need to adjust to that.
Thank you, Margaret.
I totally understand where you are, Claudia. Please be good to yourself.
I will. If the stress would ease a bit, it would be easier. But I’m going to have some hot chocolate this afternoon – that’s a treat just for me.
It’s been eleven years that my Mom is gone and not a day goes by when I don’t miss her at some moment.
Your honesty and heartfelt writing is why so many people sit you daily. Most can relate to the life situations you express so well.
No advice here, just continued prayers for you as you work your way through the day.
Thank you so much, Sue.
visit not sit. Autocorrect at work. Sorry.
I know you are sad right now, Claudia…it’s all so new and fresh. I am still dealing daily with my father’s death last year, and to be honest, I often speak out loud to him…I feel like he’s right there with me. It’s so hard to watch your pets grow old and have illnesses. We nearly lost our Sophie in October, when suddenly she couldn’t breathe right. I was beside myself with worry and sadness while she recuperated in hospital. My heart feels for you…you’ve been through a lot, and you need to deal with it however it feels best. Sending loving thoughts your way…xoxo
Thank you so much, Linda.
Adjusting to being an orphan is indeed a very difficult process. I lost both of my parents young, they were only in their early 60’s. I remember that awful feeling of total aloneness in spite of having a loving and supportive husband and daughters. I totally understand what you’re going through, Claudia. I will tell you that it does get somewhat better with time. Although, I still have days that I just long to hear the sound of their voice again….
Just take your time and be kind to yourself. Do those things that bring comfort to you and let other things go for awhile. I promise you will wake up one day feeling like your old self again, but it will come in spurts. Grieving is a long, hard process that I’m not sure ever truly ends. I think we simply finally adjust to a new normal…
xxxooo
Lily
Thank you, Lily.
All I can say is we are here to listen…good times and bad times….we will be here my friend…Hugs
Thank you, Nancy.
I may have already commented about this, Claudia. If I did, my apologies, but if not… I once saw a television interview with Jane Fonda done within a year or so, I think, of her Dad’s death – early 1980s. Her mother had died when Jane was a young teen, I think, and Jane said that losing her Dad had definitely made her feel like an orphan. That she’d lost the security of that cocoon of parental protection that we, if we’re lucky, know from the moment we’re born. Jane also said that when your parents are no longer there, YOU move up in the Grand Scheme of Things. You’re next in Life’s “on deck” circle. There’s no longer a generation between you and the Other Side. Years later when my own parents died [within 16 months of each other] I remember feeling very much the way Jane described things. PS – after 17 years, I’m STILL finding questions I’d ask my parents if I could. Or seeing things I know they’d enjoy and thinking – I gotta remember to tell Mom/Dad about X etc. This happens on an almost daily basis. And probably always will. Keep on being good to yourself, taking things gently and not expecting too much too soon. Cry whenever you feel like it too. I’m absolutely convinced crying is as healthy for us as exercising or eating healthy. Our bodies/spirits know when we need it too… ?
Jane Fonda was so right, Janet. I feel all those things, including the fact that I’m now the oldest adult in my immediate family. It’s unnerving on a lot of levels, not the least of which is the fact that my brother should be the oldest. But he’s gone.
Sweet Claudia, I know too well how it is to miss your Momma- mine has been gone from here 16 yrs. Holidays are hard, but my birthday is the hardest. She is the reason I am here, and I think of her the most then. My daddy was here Thanksgiving, his health isn’t the greatest. I try to cherish the time I have left with him. He told my oldest daughter he doesn’t think he has very many more years left… That grieves my heart already. I pray for you as you make you way around yet another year of firsts. I pray that you are blessed with the measure of grace and mercy you need to get you through it, and that you are gifted with good memories and thoughts… A salve for the hurt.
Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are noble, whatsoever things are right, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are admirable and of good repute… Think on these things.
{Hugs}
A salve for the hurt. I like that, Pat. Thank you.
I know exactly how you feel. Thanksgiving was tough and I know Christmas will be as well. I don’t feel entirely safe either. David always looks after me, so that is the same but the difference is I am now an orphan. When my beloved Aunt died last July I went into a tailspin. I think about picking up the phone to call her just as I do my Mom and Daddy. It’s awful, just plain awful. Talk about it all you want. I will listen.
Big Texas Hugs,
Susan and Bentley
I am so proud of you for expressing your grief. You really don’t have to balance your posts. If you need to write about your losses, we’re all hear to listen….and learn. You teach, whether you know it or not. I learn so much from you. Cry and talk until you can’t, anymore
Scout’s increasing frailty so close in time to your father’s death must amplify the grief. How tough to be hit with all this at once.
There is hope that the grief will abate at the right time for you, and happier memories will come, although it must not feel that way so soon. I remember standing in a grocery store line a few years after my father’s death. Up ahead of me, I spied a little old man who could have been my father’s twin. I felt such a rush of happy affection, and I knew then that my grief and also my troubled history with my father had been transformed. The emotion I felt was spontaneous, not forced. I could remember the man who was proud of a daughter good in math and science in a time when that wasn’t always true. I remembered the man who let me climb up on a roof and help him nail shingles. He was so hidebound in some ways as to girls’ behavior, but in other ways, he nurtured the “I can do this” attitude in me.