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.

Currently Listening To

Steven Wilson- Hand.Cannot.Erase
Frank Zappa- The Torture Never Stops, live in NY
Phish- Island Tour, Twist
Joni Mitchell- Hissing of Summer Lawns, Ladies of the Canyon, Hejira
Pink Floyd- Meddle, Animals
Miles Davis- misc.
Charlie Parker- misc.
The Who - Who by Numbers
Neil Young- After the Gold rush
Vary Lumar- Breaker

A Very "Girly" Blog Post

I like to think I'm not too materialistic. While I have an appreciation for nice things, I don't *really* get crazy hung up on luxury items, or tech gadgets, or designer clothes, etc. But right now I really feel the need to gush over my wedding dress, and how I found it. I really do feel funny being so excited over a dress, but I have to say, the experience was kinda magical.

A couple of weeks ago I received an email from "The Knot" about a sale happening at a local bridal boutique. I said "what the hell" and made an appointment. I had to jump into this wedding dress search sometime...so why not now? Because it was a big sale they had weird rules: you only have an hour, you can only grab so many dresses to try on at a time, and you can only bring ONE person with you! Obviously I chose my best friend/maid of honor. I really wasn't expecting to choose my dress that day anyway, so just getting ideas with my MOH was good enough.

On the way to the boutique I remember saying to my friend, "I'm not looking forward to this!" I really didn't think I was ready to try on dresses, and was nervous about the whole experience. I definitely was not intending to buy a dress that day.

Once we got there, though, and saw row after row of sparkling white gleaming wedding dresses, I began to get in the mood to try things on. I showed both my best friend and my "wedding dress consultant" (I guess that's what you'd call her?) what styles I was looking for and we dove into the vast white sea of dresses.

I tried on dress after beautiful dress, in styles I liked and styles I didn't like. Nothing stood out. I now understood and had sympathy for those girls on "Say Yes to the Dress" that I thought were so annoying and ridiculous. This was hard! I must have tried on 15 dresses to no avail. What had I become?!

Just when I figured it was time to go, the consultant showed me the room with the "non sale" full price gowns. I'm pretty sure  that's how they getcha! Naturally, this room had more of what I was looking for. We pulled 3 more dresses. The first one was great. The second one I didn't care for, but the last one.....The last one....

As I stepped out of the dressing room- a  random woman in the store shopping with her daughter gasped, my best friend practically screamed and I looked in the mirror and immediately knew. I said, "This is it. This is the one." It was everything I had envisioned. It was gorgeous. Shit got real. The wedding seemed more real somehow. I got teary eyed. My friend got teary eyed, customers in the store were coming up and admiring me and the dress...it was this bizarre fairy tale moment that I didn't think really happened outside of Kleinfeld's. Let alone to me. But it did. And I fucking love my perfect fucking wedding dress.Who knew? 

Currently Listening to...

Well, I got a preview of the new Steven Wilson album from his Facebook page - and I can't wait to be listening to that! However, in the mean time, here is a short but sweet list of what I have been listening to of late:

Prince : Art Official Age
Joni Mitchell: Hejira
Umphrey's McGee: various live recordings
Alan Evans' PlayonBrother - Live show in Burlington, Vermont
Phish: various live recordings

O'Captain, My Captain

8/11/2014
This will be a grammatical nightmare, and I won't even finish it before I post or if I even post it, but I'll worry about that later. I had been trying to track down Missy- the most amazing makeup artist I've ever seen- for my upcoming wedding...since almost literally the day that I got engaged.  She was not on Facebook. My old cosmetic coworkers hadn't heard from her and/or were looking for her too. She freelanced for MAC, but was never there when I stopped by. I left my number for her with the girl at the MAC counter. Nothing. I tried to contact her on her website I found online...though it looked like she may not have used it anymore. Months I tried in vain to get in touch with her. Finally my old counter manager at Clinique got her number for me. I spoke with her tonight. Just in time, too, as she was already booked up for a few dates in Oct 2015. But none of that was about to matter as much.
As I opened facebook to message a friend who had also been looking for Missy..I saw it. Robin Williams dead. Another hoax? I never blindly believe the crap I see on facebook so I searched online for credible sources. And it was true. It was true!

A flood of high school memories came back to me. I have never really been like most other girls. Ever. Especially in high school.  There was never one instance of me ever wanting, even a little tiny bit, to be a cheerleader, or prom queen, or the most popular, or wanting to listen to those shitty boy bands. While most girls were in love with Leonardo DiCaprio in the late 90s, I was obsessed with Robin Williams. I read his biographies, I bought as many vhs tapes of his movies as I could, I was gifted an old stand up vhs; "An Evening With Robin Williams" that I cherished, I taped things off tv, I scrapbooked articles, I learned most lines from his movies by heart...I wore a Mork pin that said Nanu Nanu with his face on it for crying out loud. I was obsessed. He was so talented in so many ways. He was able to convey so many different spectrums of emotion through so many diverse characters...he was simply gifted. Gradually, over the uerars I became less obsessed, but still held such high regard for this amazing, talented, compassionate man. Robin Williams was still one of my favorite actors.
So tonight's news really hit me hard. It stunned me. It's so sad that our most gifted and talented artists are also usually the most tortured souls.  

Marathon Monday & Current Playlist

I wrote this on Monday, and apparently did not publish it..until today. But I digress...

It may be cliché, and overused and worn out by this point, but I don't care. I'm still gonna say it. BOSTON STRONG! It is Marathon Monday, and I'm still proud, and protective, and emotional about my city and what it went through last Marathon Monday, and every day there after.

I was in Boston last year - at the Red Sox game with my Dad. The day was absolutely gorgeous, Yawkey Way bustled with activity and excitement. The Sox were all wearing the number "42" on their jersey, paying homage to Jackie Robinson. It was an exciting game that ended with an exciting walk off RBI double by Mike Napoli. The day was perfect. My dad and I left Fenway Park and shuffled along with the masses of people swarming around by the marathon route. I took a picture of a sign that said "1 mile to go" and turned to my dad - "want to head over to the finish line?" We both decided that the crowds were a little much for the both of us, and headed for the train station. I remember seeing runners that had already finished the race on the train, wrapped like baked potatoes in their space blankets, heading home from what I'm sure was an amazing, though exhausting day.

It wasn't until we were in the car, with the radio on, that I overheard talk of an explosion at the finish line. I turned the radio up - there was a lot of confusion, nobody knew exactly what had happened or if there were any casualties as of yet. All I could keep thinking was how grateful I was that we left when we did. The rest of that day, I will not go into. You know how it ended. Surreal and frightening.

April 18-19 I stayed up over 24 hours listening to the police scanners through an app on my phone the night they found the bombers. I remember that I was on PT (a Phish message board, of all places) when one of the users started a thread about a disturbance outside of where he lived, by MIT. At that point nobody knew there was a connection between this incident and the bombers, and it was a wild roller coaster of a ride following this story as it slowly unraveled. It really didn't seem like real life. To say it was a relief when they finally captured the remaining bomber (I  don't even like to type his name) would be a huge understatement.

Which brings me to today. Marathon Monday 2014. Not a chance I would be near the crowds by the marathon, but as I walked through the North End on another perfect day, seeing just about everyone decked out in their Boston Strong attire, I smiled, though I had conflicting emotions. It was so infuriating and heartbreaking how those innocent lives were taken that day. But... in that horrific aftermath, how  Boston and its community came together is just so amazing and humbling. This horrid thing that happened to our city truly brought us together and made us stronger...a tiny sliver of a silver lining.
I don't think I'll ever get tired of the slogan Boston Strong. That's what we all are. What we should be. Cliché be damned.

Listening playlist as of late:

Vary Lumar - various songs from their yet unreleased album
Joni Mitchell - Blue
Sting - The Last Ship
Jeff Beck - Live at Ronnie Scott's
Beth MacGray - (Amazing local talent, that blew me away at open mic night)
Steven Wilson - all albums, as usual. In particular: "London" a demo song.
Trey Anastasio Band - Live
Storm Corrosion - Storm Corrosion, especially Ljudet Innan, over and over again.