Friday, 6 October 2017

6 Hours

Looks like it did take an entire month for this post to happen. Sorry guys. It was a mixture of busy-ness and honestly just having trouble typing this part out. I love writing and I love sharing all the vulnerable parts of my life. I find it freeing and cathartic; I always seem to find a part of myself that I didn't know quite as fully before. So perhaps that's why I've been putting it off. Sitting down at my laptop and typing it out means that I have to really explore my heart and put words to how I'm feeling.

If you haven't been tracking along with the story about my Dad you can click on these links to read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 first. We left off with the day my Dad moved into his own apartment. He had previously been staying with my sister Nicole, but that arrangement wasn't working out very well, so they found him a tiny furnished apartment in Chinatown. Nicole and her husband James dropped him off at 1 pm.

Friday, 8 September 2017

The Rehabilitation Stage of the Story

Well, it looks like I'm right on track for my monthly blog post. You probably can't tell, but that was sarcasm. I used to write *at least* one post a week. Life was... simpler back then (read:no kids)

Anyways, I suppose I should pick up where I left off in the story with my Dad. I've spent a lot of time on the details so far. The details of his accident, and then his first couple of hours, days, and then weeks in the hospital. For the rest of this story to make sense I'm going to have to give you some more details about his (and my) life.

My Dad is an alcoholic. Diagnosed? Admittedly? No, of course not. But make no mistake about it- he has an addiction. I'm not sure how much I want to share, but I can say that my relationship with him for as long as I can remember was shaped by his drinking. And then like a piece of clay that was shaped, it had hardened over time and through fire. And it was shattered, more than once.

Thursday, 3 August 2017

The Next 11 Days

We left off the day of my Dad's accident. I was 11 days away from my due date, but had been expecting to have the baby early, as I had with Elliott. As my sisters and I parted ways that night they both told the baby to stay put for at least another day or two. We left dad still in the ER, but we were told he would be having a drain placed and be transferred up to the Neuro ICU within an hour or two of us leaving. They hoped that once the pressure was relieved that they could take him off sedation and see how he was from there.

The next morning Gloria and I drove to the hospital together. We talked about our expectations for the day, which were largely about how we would have to figure out if Dad would be able to attend the reunion the following weekend. It was 7 days away. Would he be out of the hospital yet? Could he maybe attend if he was in a wheel chair and took it easy? Gloria seemed very skeptical he would be out that soon, but I thought it was possible. We agreed we would have to talk it over with Dad and his doctors.

Friday, 14 July 2017

91 Days

91 Days.

I hadn't spoken to my Dad in 91 days and now I was driving frantically to the U of A Hospital where he was being transferred to from Red Deer. All I knew was he had fallen off his roof and hit his head and the injury was bad enough that he needed to be transferred. Sometimes it takes a crisis to learn how calm you can or cannot be, and I think I did not too bad. It was about 3:30 pm. I had Elliott with me, and had packed him a sandwich, snacks, his water, pencil crayons and a toy car. I picked up my oldest sister Gloria on the way because she was too upset to drive, and off we went.

I wasn't sure if he would be happy to see me. We hadn't spoken in so long, purely out of stubbornness. It all started on Father's Day. I had spoken to him two days before, but then forgotten to call on Father's Day. It was not an intentional slight, and I only learned about it a few weeks later when my middle sister Nicole mentioned it. She actually asked if it was correct, because our Dad is known to forget phone calls if he has had too much to drink. I realized right away that she was right- I had forgotten. I felt terrible and planned on calling him later to apologize profusely and ask forgiveness.

Wednesday, 28 June 2017

The Day I Stepped Out Of The Fog

Bit, rudder, fire. Bit, rudder fire.

I repeated it over and over to myself for days. In the book of James it says;

"A bit in the mouth of the horse controls the whole horse. A small rudder on a huge ship in the hands of a skilled captain sets a course in the face of the strongest winds. A word out of your mouth may seem like no account, but it can accomplish nearly anything- or destroy it!

It only takes a spark, remember, to set off a forest fire. A careless or wrongly placed word out of your mouth can do that..." (James 3:3-6 MSG)

Out of (seemingly) no where I had remembered hearing a very smart woman speak on controlling your tongue. The context was completely different. She wasn't talking about parenting, but God used her words none the less. 

Tuesday, 20 June 2017

Explaining the Fog

When you're in the middle of a thick fog, you can't see much else around you. I would sometimes hold my hand in front of my face, just to see if I still existed in that place. Because it's all around you, it's hard to see or think of anything else; but there isn't much to think about in a fog. It's like the color white - it isn't really a color, simply the absence of color. Fog is isn't something you focus on, it's the absence of focus and clarity. It's disorienting too, because you don't know if it stretches for only a few feet in front of you, or for miles.

Friday, 9 June 2017

The Beginning of A Journey Back

As we laid there beside each other in bed I wanted to apologize. I wanted to say that I was sorry for the last few months. Maybe even the last year or longer. I have been feeling so good this last week or two and it's actually been sticking. Not like the other times where it seemed like the fog lifted only for me to wake up a day or two later in the deep again. I wanted to apologize, but I was scared to. It felt like I would be claiming that I'm all better now, and then what if there was an expectation of me to be better. I didn't feel ready for that expectation, and I didn't trust the good feeling yet. So we laid there in silence, and once again I thanked God for how I was feeling better, and begged Him to let it stay.

I'm not sure where to start in this story, given that the story is my life. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when I went under the water, but I can recall many days of drowning. Drowning in depression, anxiety and feeling overwhelmed by the smallest of things. It was long before Audrey was born, so I'm hesitant to claim PPD. In fact, pregnancy ended up being some of the hardest months of my life, and I struggled with so much guilt for not feeling joyful and elated for the baby growing inside my womb. And while I wasn't depressed because I was pregnant, it still it felt very wrong to be depressed while I was pregnant.

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