On June 17th you became unresponsive. You’d been like this before, and yet this time felt different. The doctors had told us to be prepared before, and yet this time felt different. Hospice had been called in before, and yet this time felt different. It felt different, because it was. On June 22nd after 5 days of no food or water, after 5 days of morphine assisted slumber, after 5 days of waiting, you crossed to the other side. Your battle with Parkinson’s was over. You were released from your physical body and your greatest upward transition took place. A new journey began for you. I hope that Grandma and Mike are part of this new reality, this new place that you are in. A place of peace and a place that you are no longer bound by a physical vessel unable to support the soul that you are.
A new journey for you, AND a new journey for me. You’d been sick for a long time. I was prepared for your passing. I’d hoped for you to be at peace many times along the way and I’d had 5 days of knowing that moment was coming. And yet, the reality of it, the finality of it has been so much harder than I thought it would be.
Grief is such a weird space to be in. I find myself experiencing emotions on a different level. The same emotions that I would normally go through in a day; be it happiness or sadness or frustration or anger or joy are suddenly insanely intense. The gap between my happy moments and my sad moments is so WIDE, and the feelings so big that I am not sure what to do with them. I’m finding it hard to allow logical thinking to be a part of my daily regime. Quitting my job, buying copious amounts of tack and riding gear, disappearing with truck, trailer and horse into the woods, eating nothing but junk food, spending all day in the gym or all day in the bed have all seemed like pretty reasonable behavior depending on the moment.
The strangest piece of grief for me is the random and unexpected crying that hits me suddenly during inopportune moments. To name a few, I have found tears streaming down my face during a trail ride with hubby, in the middle of a movie, during a conversation with employees, 15 minutes into my riding lesson. The tears come without warning and once they have started it is hard to turn them off. I know that it’s awkward for the person witnessing it and yet I’ve accepted that they just have to deal with the fact that this is the reality of being around me right now.
Most importantly, I have to say that people have been great. Like really great. The outpouring of support and understanding has been overwhelming. I don’t even have the words to express the sincerity and awesomeness of those around me. All that I know is there is SO MUCH LOVE and I am humbled by it. I am grateful for it. I am filled and replenished by it and I promise that going forward I will not miss an opportunity to share love because I now realize what a huge difference even a small act can make.
So onward we go Dad, two diverging journeys on different sides of the veil. Thank you Dad for showing me all that this life has to offer, for teaching me what is important and for giving me the tools to walk this path of letting go. I love you.