Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Postholer
"It's for making holes for posts."
Right. The return to blogging, it was bound to happen one day. Life is busy. Work is work (which is to say consuming) and the children are growing (which is to say consuming) and the husband and I have much on our plates. Nothing really new here except that my Dad died. Doesn't that sound stupid and pathetic? Well, I'm feeling kinda stupid and pathetic, so there. I guess it's not too hard to imagine what most my ideas for posts are like, which is another reason I've not posted, but being stupid and pathetic hasn't stopped me in the past. :)
Should I tell you that some days it's like the tooth that finally fell? Tentatively probing the gap, wandering over the vague pain and complete loss. Or that other days it's like something deep inside, something tangible and strong has cracked, a single sharp breaking? Something not to be examined too closely. Those are my "good enough" days. "How you doing Beth?" "Good enough."
Want to hear about why the more glorious the sunrise the harder I cry? Grief is trite. Or maybe explain to me why I find myself going all soggy at really strange, random moments? Why there are times I take refuge in the absolute knowledge that I will see my Dad again and other times I feel like God is an Indian giver? Grief is lame and nonsensical.
Should I share the weirdness of grief? My days: got get the kid's to school. Do I have time to work out? Where are my socks? What do you mean you need your gym clothes washed now? Probably should eat breakfast. Someone take the dog out to pee! Keys, keys, keys, where are my keys? Crap, I forgot my phone again just a sec. Drop the kid's at school: be Godly men! Drop the husband at work: love you! Coffee? YES! Do I have enough gas to get to work? Morning. Good morning. Morning. Morning! Computer on. Check messages. Check email. I have that many Facebook notices? Good grief. Calender check. Really? How can I have that much planned. What don't I have planned? Yikes. Prayer. Planning. Printing. LUNCH! Cut and paste, art and crafts time. Sunday set. Out the the door. In the car to fetch the kids. Stop light. Dad.
Green. Go. Blow the nose. Wipe the face. Hi! You're hungry? I'm not stopping, there's food at home. Homework? Yes, I'll help. What was your day like. Dinner? I found a new recipe. Yes, there is cheese in it, cope. Please put your clothes away! Your gym clothes? Yes, let's get them in the wash. Feed the dog. Reload the dishwasher. Pick up the husband: how was work? Home. Eat. Wash dishes. Watch tv. Read. Sleep.
Grief is lame. Did I already say that? Well, it bears repeating. Seems odd (at the least) that thoughts of scheduling and recipes and locating my errant cell can occupy the same space as my father's death.
No one can carry your grief for you. I think Anne Morrow Lindbergh said something to that effect. She's right, but whatever.
And how are you?
Right. The return to blogging, it was bound to happen one day. Life is busy. Work is work (which is to say consuming) and the children are growing (which is to say consuming) and the husband and I have much on our plates. Nothing really new here except that my Dad died. Doesn't that sound stupid and pathetic? Well, I'm feeling kinda stupid and pathetic, so there. I guess it's not too hard to imagine what most my ideas for posts are like, which is another reason I've not posted, but being stupid and pathetic hasn't stopped me in the past. :)
Should I tell you that some days it's like the tooth that finally fell? Tentatively probing the gap, wandering over the vague pain and complete loss. Or that other days it's like something deep inside, something tangible and strong has cracked, a single sharp breaking? Something not to be examined too closely. Those are my "good enough" days. "How you doing Beth?" "Good enough."
Want to hear about why the more glorious the sunrise the harder I cry? Grief is trite. Or maybe explain to me why I find myself going all soggy at really strange, random moments? Why there are times I take refuge in the absolute knowledge that I will see my Dad again and other times I feel like God is an Indian giver? Grief is lame and nonsensical.
Should I share the weirdness of grief? My days: got get the kid's to school. Do I have time to work out? Where are my socks? What do you mean you need your gym clothes washed now? Probably should eat breakfast. Someone take the dog out to pee! Keys, keys, keys, where are my keys? Crap, I forgot my phone again just a sec. Drop the kid's at school: be Godly men! Drop the husband at work: love you! Coffee? YES! Do I have enough gas to get to work? Morning. Good morning. Morning. Morning! Computer on. Check messages. Check email. I have that many Facebook notices? Good grief. Calender check. Really? How can I have that much planned. What don't I have planned? Yikes. Prayer. Planning. Printing. LUNCH! Cut and paste, art and crafts time. Sunday set. Out the the door. In the car to fetch the kids. Stop light. Dad.
Green. Go. Blow the nose. Wipe the face. Hi! You're hungry? I'm not stopping, there's food at home. Homework? Yes, I'll help. What was your day like. Dinner? I found a new recipe. Yes, there is cheese in it, cope. Please put your clothes away! Your gym clothes? Yes, let's get them in the wash. Feed the dog. Reload the dishwasher. Pick up the husband: how was work? Home. Eat. Wash dishes. Watch tv. Read. Sleep.
Grief is lame. Did I already say that? Well, it bears repeating. Seems odd (at the least) that thoughts of scheduling and recipes and locating my errant cell can occupy the same space as my father's death.
No one can carry your grief for you. I think Anne Morrow Lindbergh said something to that effect. She's right, but whatever.
And how are you?
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