I have a dress in my closet that I’ll never wear again. I really loved that dress. I liked how it looked on me. I liked the lace. I bought it for a wedding. I celebrated with friends. But now it’s hanging there in my closet, reminding me of the last time I wore it—the reason I can never wear it again.
Obviously I have been fairly absent this year. I’m sorry for
that. To be honest, 2015 has been a doozy. And it was supposed to be the best
year ever—the one I’d waited for my entire life. The year I, at age 40, finally
married the love of my life.
That’s still happening. But it’s taken some twists and turns
to get there. Let’s recap:
In April, I put my 17-year-old cat to sleep. If you’d told
me 20 years ago that I’d be so attached to a cat, I’d have told you you were
crazy. But I loved my little Timber, who I found just a few months before my
mom died in 2000. She was there for every sad and lonely moment from then on.
It was heartbreaking to say goodbye to her.
In May, my fiancé spent a week in the hospital. He had a
series of mini-strokes that, fortunately, haven’t seemed to cause too much
residual damage. But it was a scary, exhausting week.
I also had some other personal issues at the beginning of
the year that seemed to suck the life out of me.
In mid-May, I said to my fiancé: “You know, 2015 has really
sucked. But I have high hopes for the rest of the year.”
The rest of the year. I’d be getting married. Everything would
be fine. All would be well.
But the very next day, my life changed forever with one
phone call. My brother called me while I was at work. I knew something was
wrong. I didn’t know how wrong.
My father had died suddenly of a perforated ulcer he didn’t
even know he had.
Nothing was fine. Nothing was well.
The next few weeks, heck, the next two months or so since
then have been a blur. Planning another parent’s funeral. Trying to grasp the
idea that neither of my parents would be at my wedding. Wearing that lovely
navy lace dress I will never wear again to give the eulogy at my father’s
funeral. Holding my baby niece who will now never know either of her paternal
grandparents. Making sure others felt comfortable by not crying too much in
front of them. Nodding with a weary smile as well-meaning friends told me, “You
know your parents will be at your wedding.”
Sure they will. I believe that. That’s what my faith teaches
me. But my selfish heart wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. And
sometimes, I have to admit, I actually, literally do scream.
How am I doing today? Still a little numb. Still a little
incredulous. But also incredibly grateful for the support of the family and
friends who have truly held me afloat through all of this.
I’m taking baby steps forward. The wedding, after all, is
planned. It’s just around the corner. Last weekend, I had a beautiful bridal
shower hosted by the best bridesmaids a girl could ever have. The love in the
room was palpable. But I missed my mom. I missed knowing my fiancé and brother
could probably be bonding with my dad during those hours the girls oohed and
ahhed over my lovely gifts.
Last week, someone told me she was glad that I was doing so
well. I guess that’s all relative. Because sometimes I feel like I’m barely
holding it together. Still, I’m determined to be as real as possible during
this grief process—with myself and with others. I wasn’t when my mom died. And
that’s what set me into this whole tailspin. I’ve tried to take this sadness
out at the gym. It’s helped some to be active and focus on that, instead of
focusing on the fact that there will now be two very empty chairs on the biggest
day of my life.
Again, I apologize for my absence. Many of you are real-life
friends who know my situation, but I know there are many readers who may have
been worried about me.
I’m doing OK. Some days I’m doing pretty well. Other days I’m
still a disaster. But I’m here and I’m inching ahead. It’s sort of all I can
do.
