The End of An Era

I've been avoiding thinking about something that's made me very uncomfortable. But, I've learned avoiding things is a surefire way for them to manifest in unhealthy ways when you least expect it. So, I guess I need to get this out. Hopefully by doing so I can release a little of the tension I feel, as I navigate through this strange new world of grieving and how I should actually handle it.

My home for basically my entire life. My home that my grandfather had built in the 1960s, that my mother grew up in, she even pushed the detonator to start the construction for the in-ground gunite swimming pool when she was a child. My home that was centered around basically every memory since I was born - was sold last Friday. To some weird, strange, new people. Those people are going to be living in MY house now. I'll never be there again. They will never know the history, the memories that were made there. The struggles, the fights, the holidays, the happy times. The horrible times. The last tie to my dad, to my "old life" - gone. I'm here in a strange, uncomfortable new life trying to deal with all these realizations.

I always knew I could go home. No matter what, my home and my dad would always be there to welcome me from ANY situation I would come across. No questions asked. Now, they are both gone, and any sense of security I once had seems to be gone with them. Two staples in my life, taken away. I'm not taking it well, apparently. Talking about it sends me into a panic. Even writing about it is making me very uneasy.  And yet, I realize that I should consider myself lucky that I had this security, this sanctuary for so much of my life.Some people have never experienced that. Some people never had a dad that would do anything for you and drop everything to make sure you were OK. Or a home that has always been in the same place - comfortable, familiar, welcoming, soothing. But losing both of them around the same time is not easy to sort through.

Yes, I did have the opportunity to buy the house - but truthfully, I did not want to live there. I just liked the idea of it always being there. It had also been giving me bad vibes for the past few years, which is a whole different story. But, living there was not the option for me. Renting it would be too annoying in the long run. It only made sense to sell it. I didn't even want to go visit the house the past few months, as the last time we were there it was making some strange noises and generally being creepy. I had my last real walk-through of the house the day of my dad's funeral. With my sister, her kids, my brother, and my cousin Jack. We were all very nostalgic, and it is a nice final memory to have, all of us together, walking through such an important piece of our lives. Remembering parties by the pool, how we all loved climbing on the giant rock in the backyard as kids, how every important photo was taken in front of the fire place. It's hard to know you can never go back to that again. That life is permanently changed. That all you have left now is your memories, and photographs. But, how lucky I am that I have those memories and photographs to remember all the good times?  Very lucky. And getting over this, and dealing with the emotions it stirs up is just another step on my journey to working through this grieving process.

What Grieving Is (For Me)

For over two weeks now, I've been struggling hard with severe anxiety and panic attacks. I've been trying to rationalize why, trying to push through it, force myself to feel better. Waiting impatiently to wake up and feel "normal." I feel lost, overwhelmed, hopeless, joyless.  I've started seeing a therapist, I've talked to my doctor. I'm so uncomfortable in my own skin right now I'd do anything to make this feeling stop. I don't want to go anywhere, let alone the hour long ridiculous 13 mile commute to and from Boston to work- which is where my anxiety and panic happens the worst. I've just been trying so hard to get back to normal as soon as possible.

I foolishly thought I handled my Dad's death and previous 2 year long battle with what ultimately turned out to be ALS like a "strong" person. I remember going for my physical and all but bragging to my doctor how I hadn't felt any anxiety or panic and never needed a xanax in the two years dealing with  my father's illness. I didn't show too much emotion in front of him, but I was there for him every single day to the end.  And in the very last 10 days I was there 24/7. I was a champ at his wake. Not so much at his funeral, but I still felt good enough to go right back to work. I cried a bit when I felt sad in the weeks following. I constantly replay his last moments or certain moments throughout that wretched journey. I feel regret for how I so stoically handled his illness and wonder if I I should have shown him emotion, though I don't think I could of even if I wanted to at the time. I think about things I could have done better, and how awful and scary it must have been for him,  especially not being able to speak in the last 10 or so months. I feel ashamed that I sometimes would get frustrated when he would throw yelling/crying tantrums because I couldn't understand what he wanted. I live in those thoughts. I even thought I would feel a bit of relief to know he wasn't suffering anymore. I thought that was all I had to do to grieve properly.

I was very close to my dad. We spent every Sunday for years together no matter what. We would find fun and interesting things to do, whether it was a cruise to the islands around Boston Harbor, or a trip to Rockport, a walk around Salem or a drive up to Ogunquit, Maine. We checked out all sorts of restaurants, and lots of days he would often cook me incredible meals being the expert Sicilian cook that he was. We always watched football together, whether I had him over to my house or I went to his. We would travel together. We went to Holland, Belgium and France in 2012. We had been to Italy and Sicily, Mexico, and many other places in between.

So, I've been listening to a piece called "unlocking acceptance" on the insight timer app, and as I took a short walk around the neighborhood this morning I realized something: Although I am aware that my dad's passing is an integral part of how I am feeling, and that I initially stuffed all my emotions down and they are coming out now...I didn't exactly realize that this anxiety and depression IS  the actual grieving. That what I'm going through is what I'm supposed to in order to come to the acceptance.

It's so uncomfortable, and I'm trying so hard to make it stop, but, this is a vital part of healing...just perhaps delayed. Or maybe even not delayed. Maybe it just had to happen now. I still can't make the acceptance come any faster, and I don't know how much longer I'll feel this way, but I have to feel it. I really have no choice, so I might as well stop fighting it.  And it is actually what most people feel when they grieve. I've been thinking I'd be a failure if I have to take some time off of work...but I went back to work the next work day after the funeral, and 3 or 4 days off immediately after a death does not fit everyone's grieving timeline, when grieving hits at different points in everyone's life.

I think I need to remind myself when I'm feeling hopeless that it's a natural part of greiving, and it's OK to feel so uncomfortable with feeling uncomfortable. I still want it to pass as quickly as possible, but I can't force anything. Just feel what I'm feeling. If I need to take some meds to get me over this hump, I may just have to do it. But this panic and anxiety is grief. It's unfortunate to have to experience it, but it's real grief. It may last for weeks more, it may not. I hate it, I hate every single moment of it. but it's part of loss and ultimately, acceptance, and hopefully and finally..some real peace.