I write this letter to you today to explain what can happen. I don't say it will happen. I don't say it should happen. I don't say it shouldn't happen either. Everyone deals with grief in their own unique and personal way.
The holiday season has hit me hard. I am a real "bah-humbug" and have not experienced any of the joys of the holiday season. I mope around and have little to no joie de vivre straight across the board. I am cranky. I am depressed. I am withdrawn. None of which is fair to your mother or you. Any glimpse of normalcy is a simple facade and consist of going through the motions. But I find that facade harder and harder to muster. And I am aware, which magnifies the previous symptoms by a factor of ten and the shame for my present being by a factor of one hundred.
I get asked constantly, "Are you ok?" and I want to scream "Hell No!" but I don't. I smile and nod and say okay. But in my heart it feels like everything is wrong. The state of the world and this jackass disgrace playing President doesn't help much either. Plus work is like sliding down a razor blade into a vat full of lemon juice. But honestly, I used to be able to handle most anything the world threw at me, and handle it in stride. I would throw on a Jimmy Buffett tune and find some comfort among my family and friends. Now, I escape into an online chess game hoping that figuring out a checkmate will occupy my mind enough to give it a reprieve from all the rest.
I have no bandwidth for anything anymore. My mind is constantly awash with grief of loved ones loss. And evidently this retreat from life is a coping mechanism. Combine that with my zombie like stare and my IDGAF attitude that has made me stop worrying about things like my diabetes or weight and such. Add on what seems to be an insurmountable amount of stress to overcome the simplest tasks. Not a good combination.
The other night at your St Agnes Christmas Pageant, what is supposed to be a joyous event, I had tears in my eye thinking of how my dad missed his grandson's concert and every concert and graduation and such to follow. Your mom says, "He saw it." but lately I have my doubts, which is an odd role reversal for your dad who is usually more the devout believer and your mom who tends to gravitate to more cynical views. I told her, "Tough to see it from Liberty Rd and through six feet of dirt" referring to Holy Family Cemetery and his physical remains.
They say time heals all, and I suppose sooner or later I will deal better. I have been seeking therapy for just that. And like I said, I am aware and I want with the deepest part of my soul to cope better. So maybe a change will come. Or not. I sure hope so as I feel like I am spinning my wheels in the quicksand of despair.
Again I tell you this story not to justify or approve of what I am going through or how I am going through it. I tell you it because you may end up one day going through something similar, and perhaps knowing your father went through the same will lessen the shame. At least I pray that it will keep you grounded and allow you to work through it however you have to. Or you may not go through anything the way your old man has. I don't want you to feel guilty if you don't respond this way. You do you when the time comes. In fact I hope you respond much better than I do.
I usually say you get to choose how you respond to anything and everything in life. This might be the one rare occasion that disproves that point. Sometimes there are biological, chemical, emotional, and spiritual mixtures that just stop even the most self-aware people from doing and acting and responding in what they would deem an appropriate manner. I want to take the high road, I want people to see what life has thrown at me and say, "He was always smiling." But grief came through my life like a plow through a mouse's house, which was not my plan, but to quote Robert Burns. "the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley, an' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,For promis'd joy!"...
"Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' meSincerely with love from your dad,
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!
Leo
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