Looking at my old post, I lost it. I miss my dad sooo much. The sight of his face hurts because I can no longer kiss the roughness of that cheek when he had not recently shaved. Because I can no longer be comforted by those arms. I still remember exactly how his back, his shoulders, his arms felt. That special comfort that can only come from being cradled by the arms of my father. I wonder if those memories, the memories of his physical body will fade with time? I hope they do not. I will miss them. But how do you record the memory of touch? I cannot express with words the exact contours of my fathers shoulder, his back, his cheek. Oh how I miss him.
I keep thinking, God, mom is such a trouper. She went through her period of grief I feel like. She was deliberating for longer than necessary over a lumpectomy versus a mastectomy. One day, she was talking to one of her friends on the telephone. "I guess next step is I decide what kind of surgery I am having," she said.
"You've already decided." I said. "You decided that first day, you're having a mastectomy."
She looked at me for a moment. Nodded, and passed this information on to her friend on the other line. From then on, when friends asked her, she said, "well Natalie said I've already decided what kind of surgery I'm going to have, so I guess I'm having a mastectomy," still a bit unsure. Still scared.
The day before surgery:doctors and more doctors... but we learned exactly what to expect the following morning... S-DAY... the big day. (We joked about it. I think it helped mom to joke and make light of it. I think laugher is therapy we should remember, because it has really helped us). But we ended that day with the energy-healing session. A very powerful experience, I felt my father's love, and his intense love for mom as it flowed through me. I am usually not one to speak quite so... I do not even know the word, I guess "other worldly"? or something... new agey? whatever. What I felt was powerful and intense and I think I felt that presence because I was open to whatever experience (or not) I felt while doing this "energy work" with mom. I have been interested in naturopathic, homeopathic....yada yada for a long time. And I feel like I am a fairly open person spiritually. I feel something. I do not feel the need to try to capture it with words. But it exists in the mountains. In the love that people have poured out to my mother (she has been "coated in prayer" by family), it exists in the mundane experience of the everyday--whatever joy or whatever experience--there is something to be gained, learned, appreciated, perhaps loved about every day. It may be something simple: somedays I decide that I am grateful that i can take deep breaths (I love yoga--so I appreciate that I can do...or attempt--like we all do--yoga), or I am so glad that i have a body that functions so well. I am grateful that I am learning to listen to my heart. Taking this semester off of school was difficult. I had so much pressure to "stay in school!" "finish now--just get it over with!"; yet, I decided to listen to what my gut feeling was: that I needed a break from school. And then, about two weeks into the new semester, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer; with no husband to comfort her, to hug her, to take care of her. So I was called home. And now our family is together.
It feels right to be in Durango now. I am in my home town; the place where I grew up, where I took my first wobbly steps into the world--both physically and metaphorically, the place where my father is remembered, and it is the place where people knew him. And it is the place where I was introduced to change, and grief: death when my pony died, and then my grandfathers. I learned to let myself cry with my head buried on my dads chest. I would lift my head and see a big wet mark from my tears on his collared shirt. But he never cared. He just wanted to hug me.
Again--I miss him. Smiling. I know I always will. Always I will miss him intensely. But the pain is not as bad as it once was; it is not as sharp. It no longer takes my breath away to realize, again, that he is really gone.
I know mom misses him too. She says she is numb--maybe because she has already experienced so much pain and hardship in her life. But his love still is such a strong in our small family. Dad used to say he "counted his blessings" especially for me and for mom. I've been thinking lately that I "count my blessings" to have had such a tight family. To have had such an amazing father. To have grown up the way I did, learning to love, appreciate, and be comfortable in nature. I come from strong, steady roots. I admire both of my parents so much. They are role models, heros, and teachers--just as parents should be. And I "count my blessings" for my mom, for my family, for our friends, for all the love and prayers and thoughts sent our way.
Dad, even in his death, has left me with so, so many lessons. I think I am finally getting some of what he was trying to teach me all along. He wanted me to appreciate the present moment. Now I have to. Thinking about the future is painful. He wanted me to learn to love myself. And I have discovered so much of him, and so much of mom in myself over the past seven months. I love them so much, how can I not love those parts of myself, and with that beginning, I am learning to treat myself with acceptance, patience and love... always a work in progress.
Most of all, I appreciate my mother. Seeing her so vulnerable during surgery, I realized how intense my love is for her. And I have found an extra reserve of patience that seems to exist for the purpose of caring for a parent. I have done so much for her, and I have truly been doing (most of) it out of love. I love this women, who for so long cared for me. So I will do what I can to help her through this time.
In a way, helping mom has been cathartic. I have seen both of my parents at their absolute most vulnerable--my father as he died of his heart attack, my mother as she was put under and wheeled off for surgery. And after surgery, as she was only sort of in control of her body... she recovered ( and continues to recover) rapidly and well! But still,there were those moments. and it helps me now to be able to help mom. To be able to care for her. To not have lost her (they asked for her living will before she went under anesthesia). To watch her recover. I can help her. I no longer feel quite so helpless (a residual feeling after my fathers death on Long's Peak). And through helping her, perhaps, i am learning to trust myself again... I certainly feel like I am regaining strength.
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