Unanswered thoughts

Today, my father would have been 70.

I often wonder what his life would look like if he hadn't suffered the paralyzing stroke. Or what our relationship would look like if he tried a little harder before the stroke. Or what life in general would look like if he was a better husband & my parents never divorced. Death is a necessary little bastard. It's an unwanted, undesired part of life and therefore, unavoidable. When it happens, you are just left with the remnants of it, remnants that occasionally forces you to think of what could have been...

Occasions like today, his birthday.
Or the anniversary of his death.
Or on Father's Day.
The list goes on and on...

A friend said that my father would be proud of this woman that I have become, which made me wonder what my father thought of me. I would like to think that he was very proud of me. The fact that there were pictures of me throughout my various milestones in life framed in his house, made me feel like he was proud. The fact that he kept a photo album of all of the yearbook pictures, graduation announcements, Bobcats photos that I sent him, boyfriend photos, neatly in an organized fashion as if in a timeline, made me feel like he was probably always there even when distance made us distant. Letters were kept. Memories were kept. Is that proof of pride?

I think what is most painful of the memories of the past 10 years is his lack of a voice. It is very difficult to have a conversation with someone that struggles to speak back. When mid-argument with past boyfriends, I used to get so upset when I would text a question and not hear a response for hours!  Imagine asking questions or simply trying to converse but not knowing that it would take years for a response. Imagine being unaware that you may never get a response.

Maybe that is a tad dramatic. But I would have liked to have not gotten off the phone with my father only to sit in tears because I did not know what he was trying to tell me. I would have preferred to have conversations that his nurse didn't have to interpret for me because the phone lines were so unclear and his voice wasn't strong enough to carry. It would have been lovely to ask my father open-ended questions, instead of the alternative because only "yes" and "no" were easiest for him to say and for me to understand. 7 years he struggled. 7 years he fought.

My unanswered thoughts are not pertinent to my existence. The unknown answers don't define me or change my relationship with him... they are just thoughts. Curious mind wanderings. That's what death does, that necessary little bastard. Such a nincompoop.

What a difference a date makes

I find myself having the proverbial "day," an expression typically used to insinuate something bad occurring except in my case, nothing bad has actually happened. I'm just in a mood... a "funk", if you will.

Suddenly, I'm crying. "Jesus, is my period coming?" I question myself as I sit Indian-style on my carpeted floor (it isn't, by the way). I wipe away my tears and continue tasking around my house.

I decide to shred some old mail and organize my desk area when I see a picture of my father and I and once again, I am suddenly crying! "What the hell?!" is what I am thinking as this time, the tears don't stop for awhile.

Two of my closest friends coincidentally lost their fathers within 6 days of each other - and recently. Far more recent than I lost mine. And also coincidentally, a text message appears with one of their names across my screen as I finally pulled myself together. I open the text to find a picture of her latest tattoo; it is a beautifully done portrayal of her father's handwriting with the words "I love you" seemingly on her wrist. "Wow," I think to myself. How beautiful that is. And wow- how well do I know the desire for a permanent tribute; I did the same thing after my father died last year. All of these thoughts go through my mind... and then I start to cry again.

Ok. If you -the reader- are someone who knows me very well, you would know that I am not a huge crier. Unlike my mother (& most women that I know), I don't get highly emotional to the point of tears often. So after my 3rd round of waterworks, I began to wonder what the hell was going on and checked the calendar.

After daddy died, I remember talking to my mother and her checking up on me around certain times of the month. She explained that for her, even years after her mother passed, she would find herself feeling sad around the anniversary of my grandmother's death. She wouldn't even realize why until months & months later, when she finally connected the dots. You might think that is weird but over the past year, I have found that I too become this atypical version of myself right around the anniversary of my father's death. Meaning, subconsciously, every month for the past 14 months, I become sad whenever the 22nd approaches. These feelings of sadness (and occasional tears) usually lasts until the next month arrives, which makes sense: Daddy died on the 22nd and was "buried" on the 29th. I'm usually good-to-go by the time the 1st rears its head.

"...but today is the 10th, so what in the world is going on!?" I thought, as I wiped more tears away.

Then I realized... Father's Day is Sunday.

Ah. I did not factor that in. I have become a pro at quickly deleting all "Father's Day Sale" emails that I've received, without truly letting the thought seep in. I honestly did not even remember. And though I had to deal with it last year, for the majority of my life I very angrily rebelled against Father's Day. In fact, I often gave my mother a call or sent a card to thank her for her role as a stand-in. It wasn't until daddy's stroke in 2004 that I began to acknowledge the day to him (and even then it took some years to get in the rhythm of doing).

I hate admitting that. I hate feeling like I wished things were different. I don't have regrets in life...I live my life like that on purpose actually, because I don't like that feeling. But with regards to him, I do wish some things were handled differently. I do wish that our relationship was different. I wish a lot of things. 

I cannot change time, however. I lack that ability obviously & I can't control my eyes from crying either, so all I can do at this point is continue to heal and hopefully help my friends too. In the meantime, I reach for a bottle of wine, clarity & serenity. 

I surely am still learning how to cope with this 1-parent thing... consciously and subconsciously.

*M*

Hers:

Mine:

The wine:

Many moons ago...

Many moons ago, I was writing about a diet I was trying as well as coping with the death of my father. Now here it is, March 14, 2013 and I am still dealing with his passing and still thinking of losing more weight! Has any time passed at all?

Well, obviously.
I have not gained much since my last post...in fact, I haven't gained more than 2-3lbs. So that remaining 12 lbs I mentioned in my prior post has yet to be lost. Must get on that.

Dealing with death I've realized, does not have an expiration date. No one says, "Well Monique, Denzil died at 7:11am 3/22/12, therefore at exactly 7:11am six months later, you will have dealt with it all!" But wouldn't that be lovely? Here it is I am approaching the anniversary, and yet it still feels like it just happened.

I know time has passed because I had a birthday. There was Christmas and even a New Year's party that I attended. What would have been his 69th birthday came....but yet, I still feel stagnant. Paralyzed even, (for lack of a better word, and no pun intended). While speaking to a guy friend recently, I busted out into tears.While arguing with a girlfriend of mine, I totally yelled at her about me dealing with my father, as if (a.) that was the topic of our discussion, and (b.) as if she was at fault! These are only signs that my emotions are still lying dormant - for now. No real progress, no real decline, just stagnant.

My sister and I were talking the other day and I realized that I am feeling like she's feeling. For months now, I've been feeling very impatient with people, very annoyed with their "problems", very laissez-faire, very indifferent, very intolerant......it's very unlike me. I am constantly having moments where I stand outside myself and wonder, "what is happening to you?" Last weekend, I got a speeding ticket and normally, I'd bitch to my mother or SOMEBODY about it but instead, I honestly forgot it even happened until a few hours later. Then a few days later when I was doing laundry and came across the folded traffic violation, I realized that I had forgotten AGAIN. Very unlike me (Note to self: Must remember, so that I can pay the ticket!).

Everyone deals with death differently. I've clearly remained stagnant as far as with regards to time, my career -hell- even my weight. I am however pleased with the direction my life is going. Though not able to jump over some career hurdles (see, stagnant!) I am finally doing what I love and am seeing possible career moves later this year. I must hold on to that.

And hopefully, I'll find better ways of coping in the meantime.

Fundraising for my Father (Elevate Lifestyle Magazine, July 2012 Issue)

Three years ago, I wrote about my experience as a novice runner, training for and competing in the ING Miami Half Marathon. On March 22nd of this year, I received the news that my father’s battle from a stroke he suffered in 2004 had come to an end. Seeing as I had already planned on running the ING Miami again, coupled with the fact that my father is now gone, I am planning on linking the two by fundraising for a charity in his honor in conjunction with this race.


To continue reading:
http://www.elevatelifestyle.com/magazine/v/fundraising-for-my-father/

3 Months

The first trimester of anything I can think of, tends to be a critical time. The first 3 months in a new job is an important time for punctuality, displaying an ability to learn or adapt, wearing your best suits and exhibiting your diligence as a hard worker. The first 3 months of a pregnancy is often a time for miscarriages so one must be cautious and focused on being of good health. The first 3 months of a relationship (and often extended to 6 months or a year) is when you get to know someone and learn their habits, their likes, their desires and goals in life. The first 3 months is a time for monitoring. It is a time for change or growth.

Tomorrow marks exactly 3 months since Daddy died. Father’s Day was Sunday. As my sister put it in a beautiful card she mailed, it was our “First Father-less Day”. It’s the first of many, really. When speaking with an ex whom had also lost his father (many years ago), I asked him “when does it get better? When is it bearable?” He answered honestly, “it depends. Everyone is different…for me, I would say it was 2-3 years.” I know he is right. There will be a day when Father’s Day Sale emails from Nordstrom won’t bother me. Perhaps I won’t even notice.

These first 3 months for me have been turbulent, for lack of a better word. I had moments where I felt unsettled, moments when I would erupt with tears while on a highway for no apparent reason, moments when I don’t think about it at all. I am beginning to ask myself some questions and am hoping for comfort in the near future. My daddy’s nurse sent me a text the other day, saying that she misses him every day. I don’t miss my father every day. I think about him every day, yes. I reflect on past memories just about all the time, yes. Some days, I’ll just stare at his pictures in my house and wish I could have another “difficult conversation” with him, as I used to complain about having to myself in the past. I think about revisiting my true home of Jamaica and not going to my grandparents’ house, where he lived. I have friends that are getting married and with all of their planning, I can’t help but think that he will never know me as Mrs. Anybody, and I am saddened. All of this makes me sad just about every day but I don’t truly “miss” him because I know he is no longer suffering. His 7 years of suffering is over and I am happy for that. That certainly beats my 3 months of turbulence.

Divas 1/2 Marathon

After a cold, bleak two days, my mother & I ran the Divas 1/2 Marathon on a beautiful Sunday morning in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. We were up before the sun along with 4,400 other anxious women to embark on 13.1 fairly flat miles.

This year began with a turbulent take-off. Now it feels like this ride I am on has leveled off and is coasting in the right direction, beginning with this past weekend's difficult but fun race with my mother, almost exactly two months after the death of my father:

Another Moment in Monique's Mind...

Finding the motivation to write when you feel mentally exhausted is difficult. Finding the words to articulate what your already mentally exhausted self is feeling, well, that's a challenge.

Lately I've been wondering what my motivation has been behind certain decisions that I've made. The other day, I sat on my couch and stared at my television. Not because I was watching anything interesting but because I did not have the energy nor the desire to get up and do anything else. Instead of being productive or doing things of value around my house or with myself, I have been simply existing. I feel like I'm in a slump. A grim, empty slump to be exact.

This weekend, I hope to turn this continuing nose-dive into an ascension of positive growth. I am running the Divas 1/2 Marathon Race in Myrtle Beach, SC with my mother. Though I haven't been training as often as I should have been, I am still excited to attend this race and hopeful that it will give me the push I need to get my mind back on track. For the past month and 26 days have created this fog that just sits over me. It literally just SITS there! I don't know when the sun is going to peek through; I don't know if it's going to rain. I just walk around with it draping its dreary sentiments over me and frankly, it's time to part the clouds. I have a great life that is exciting and fun and I am missing it. I am blessed to have wonderful people in my life and I am missing them. It is time for a change.

A Moment in Monique's Mind...

At 7:11am on Thursday, March 22, 2012, I got a call from my father's caretaker saying that my father passed away.


I've been trying to decide whether or not I wanted to write about my feelings publicly or not. I think that some of what I'm feeling will be kept private but there are some things that I don't mind sharing on my blog. Like the fact that I am doing horribly at sharing at all. This is because I have managed to avoid dealing with the circumstance altogether. You can call me Queen Monique of Avoidance! Now here it is, a month after my father's passing and I have come to this realization. Last week, my sister asked me if I've dealt with everything that has happened and while my initial reaction was to snap back, "of course! I'm faced with it everyday," I realized that giving that response would not be completely true.

Instead, I gave her words some thought. I noticed that I couldn't recall the last time I spoke about it. I remembered the last time I cried but I cried because of a card I received in the mail, then I promptly wiped away my tears and reclosed the emotional door to my heart.

In my defense, I have been quite distracted. This could either be a good or bad thing. I have had assignments to focus on, my job to focus on, and a chain of ailments that have garnered my attention. I fear though, that once the distractions dissipate, I will be left with the residue of his death and a volcanic emotional erruption will occur. That can't be good.

"What do you do to relieve stress and get through hard times?" I was asked by a friend of mine. I paused. I then hesitated before responding honestly, "I don't know. I've never had to deal with something of this magnitude. I guess I should write." He then asked, "why not dance?"

"Dancing is fun but it's not a true release for me, it's more like another distraction. Like therapeutic shopping," I said.

"So then write" he said calmly and ever so clearly, as if it were obvious. It resonated in my head for the next five seconds before I knodded in agreement.

The next afternoon I got a text message that read, "Don't 4get to write."

So I'm here, writing. I'm also writing in my journal but I tend to do that at night, which isn't always beneficial when I'm going through my day, carrying my thoughts and gaining more thoughts. I've coined this post "A Moment in Monique's Mind" and will name future posts this as well, as it will be a moment to take a personal break into the thoughts that haunt my brain.

Right now, I am going to figure out how to deal with all of this because doing the proverbial sweep under the rug accomplishes nothing. "Unfortunately Monique, you're just like your father that way. That's exactly how he dealt with things. You two are so much alike", said my mother.

Well then...I have some work to do.