Based on the title of this post alone, you may already have some ideas of what my focus is going to be here. Nostalgia for a time in my life when things were better, perhaps? When my Dad was still alive and well? Or maybe when I was care-free as a freshman in college, skipping classes to hide-out in the woods and read Alice in Wonderland while smoking pot? Or maybe nostalgia for when my Dad took me camping when I was just a wee lass, and we were only supposed to stay for a night or two, and ended up staying for almost the entire week? Well, weirdly enough, memories such as these are not what I am feeling nostalgic about right now. No, I am feeling nostalgic for this same time last year, the glorious period I can only refer to as “the time when my dad was deathly ill, literally.”
Why the fuck am I missing this painful, traumatic, and incredibly difficult time in my life? I really don’t know. I can’t explain it. But as I am trying to squeeze in all of my current responsibilities (WORK, BILLS, ETC)and personal interests (climbing, yoga, writing, reading, etc), I can’t help but think back to this time last year when my main focus was squeezing in visits to see my Dad in hospice care. Since I had no time to do anything but go to work and then go and see my father, I would wake up at 5:30 every morning to go for a run. On Saturdays, I would go for a run in the morning, then go food shopping and afterward come home to bake some kind of recipe I was interested in (peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, banana nut oatmeal bread, mint chocolate chip patties, etc), then go to visit my Dad. No matter what I was doing, I would always find the time to visit my Dad. Then, I would drive to Josh’s and proceed to cry a lot or just sit like an exhausted zombie who has eaten too many brains while he comforted and took care of me or tried to distract me with something happier. Sometimes during the visits to my Dad he would be wonderful and aware and full of life (well, as much life as you can be full of given that you are bedridden and on a shit ton of mind-altering meds). Other visits, he might be sleeping the entire time, or crying, or hallucinating. Sometimes he would confide in me about matters like his fear of dying, frustration with being in bed, desire for a cigarette, or how he missed my brother who was stuck in Chicago at the time. Mostly, however, I would just sit there, and we might talk a little, but we would just enjoy each other’s company. For some unknown reason, I am finding comfort in these difficult memories right now. I am missing these visits. I can’t tell you why I am not missing the times when my dad was healthy more, but I’m not. I’m missing sitting by his bed side and being near him. I’m missing the times when I would get to his room before 9 AM so I could get some alone time with him before my Nanny (his mom) came. I’m missing driving the hour to go and see him after a long day at work. I’m missing brushing his teeth for him and holding him and laying next to him (I was the only one he would let lay in his bed with him, everyone else caused him physical pain for some reason). I’m missing him calling me med-infused pet-names like “his little hot-dog.” Wow, this is hard to write about.
Ugh. I am wishing it was a year ago right now. I really feel weird about having these feelings, like it’s wrong or something. I really can’t explain them. I just felt safe, or something, maybe? Knowing that my whole life was revolving around one of a few things: 1) My dad 2) Long runs 3) Josh 4) Baking or 5) Food shopping. Now my life is revolving around everything BUT my dad (applying to grad school, Bikram yoga, rock climbing, etc etc etc) and I just can’t seem to find any direction. I want badly to ask my Dad for advice on what to do next, because frankly nobody else’s advice really does it for me. I am entirely left, right now, to my own indecisive nature and it is driving me nuts. I feel lonely. I feel confused. I feel worried. And on top of it all, I feel nostalgic for a time in my life that was incredibly painful. I feel weird about this nostalgia. And, as usual, I feel really fucking sad. The kind of sadness that feels like a flaming bowling ball is sitting inside of my heart. The kind that dominates every happy or joyful moment of my life, the kind that makes me want to cry like an infant all day everyday even though life is a beautiful thing.
Fuck!
I really just want to be sitting at my dad’s bedside right now, sipping hot tea and thinking about how much I love him.
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as sad as these hospital memories are, they are also very beautiful. your dad loved you very very very much.