Meh

Meh.  That best describes my feelin's about this past weekend.  Meh. Meh.  Meh.  The numbness inside remains intact.


Took this weekend to run down to Daddy's house to do some work on clearin' things up.  Found a lot of treasures that touched my heart and others that broke my heart, but nothin', absolutely NOTHIN' gave me the emotional grievin' release I've been lookin' for.  Not even payin' a visit to Daddy's grave did anything for me.  Except to get me bitten by skeeters or some kind of flyin'/bitin' insectoid.  Got a little exposure to the sun.  I talked to Daddy about half a hour.  Didn't get any responses back.   Shared my birth mother's latest antic with him.  Felt better for talkin' to him, but no release. 


The weird thing is that I have no difficulty feelin' anger over those situations that warrant it (see previous blog), but the anger only provides some temporary relief from the numbness.  A little adrenaline rush, a rise in blood pressure, but it's not very long lastin', and then the numbness sets in again.




Grief counselin' is still in the works.  The corporate chaplain did stop by my cubicle today and we talked a bit.  He said I'm not crazy, that all these jumbled feelin's are normal.  I told him about the memorial service at the United Methodist Annual Conference in downtown Indy next Thursday, the 7th, and of my intent to go, he agreed it was a good idea. 




It's just drivin' me nertz that I could cry when the two furbrothers took off two months ago - and that I could cry rivers when that so - called 'friend'/co worker treated me so abysmally the first time - yet I can't summon up the cleansin' cry over my own father!  No matter what people say, I still feel like an asshat for that.




Granted, there was 125 miles (dependin' on the route taken) between us, but the man was part of my life since birth!  One would think I'd be more emotional about it, for cripe's sake!!   God knows he saw more of me and the DH in the last few weeks of his life than he saw of us in the last three years. 


There's a danger for me to fall into a big pit of guilt for all the times I didn't go to see him, or wasn't as enthusiastic about his telephone calls, all the misunderstandings we had while I was growin' up.  For every negative memory, there are plenty of good things that we shared; a love for IU basketball and Cubs baseball, love of music and of the outdoors, love of writin' and of car repair, the love parents feel for their children and vice versa.




But Life is not a ledger, with pluses and minuses that balance out.  Sometimes the account is badly overdrawn, and sometimes it has a nice little nest egg to fall back on.  Sometimes one barely breaks even.  All I can do is try to remember that Life is what we make of it.  There's no do over in Life.  You can't go back and make all the bad shit better, you can only go forward.


Up to Tuesday night, the only writin' I'd been doin' was emails, thank you notes/cards, and correspondence pertainin' to Daddy's revocable trust.  For the first time since the night Daddy died, I returned to writin' my fan fic.  It was like sayin' "hi" to a long lost friend.  It felt good to create again. 


Speakin' of long lost friend, I reconnected with a good ridin' friend Tuesday, who goes by the name of Big Bird.  Ron and I hooked up at a charity ride last summer.  He's a good man, and a good friend.  We talked for a couple of hours at a bar called the Sugar Shack, not far from either of our homes over a couple of non alcoholic drinks.   I suspect we'll take a few rides before the summer is out. 


In other words, Life is movin' forward, despite the feelin' of numbness that continues inside me.  The corporate chaplain says I'm not nertz, that everythin' I'm feelin' is normal in this kind of situation.  I don't remember goin' through this kind of internal pain when my grandparents died - or when great grandma died.  But those were very many years ago.  This is different from those times.  This is different from havin' beloved furbabies cross the Rainbow Bridge.   This is sayin' goodbye to my Daddy. 


And I wish to Hell I could feel more than anger and Meh.  It doesn't help that Father's Day is comin' up very soon.  I've given up hopin' for a catalyst that will bring the healin' about.  Next Thursday, the 7th, is the Annual Conference's Memorial Service.  I'll be present on behalf of my (step) mother, birth mother, my brothers, and the rest of the family that can't attend.  I doubt that or Father's Day will bring me any closer than packin' his clothes for donation over the past weekend did. 


And so I continue to travel along the long and windin' road in the land of Meh.