Ok, a quick update… that in the end isn’t all that quick. Sorry about that. Today I’m using my blog like a journal… I’ll just write write write to empty my head, so apologies if this is rambly and messy. I’m learning that’s just how it is sometimes.
(I’m also learning that perhaps I don’t need to make my posts “perfect” before I lob them on you, but that’s another post for another time.)
So… my father has been admitted to hospital again because he has internal bleeding. This makes him anaemic. Apparently he has the blood quality of a nine year old. In the space of a couple of days he’s gone from “severely anaemic” needing a blood transfusion, to bleeding “profusely”. Sorry if that sounds gross, it probably is.
I’m not entirely sure what is going on with him, because I’m letting my mother deal with all that medical stuff, and not getting overwrought when she gets frustrated by it. I even amaze myself when I’m able to say to her, “ok” or “why don’t you ask the doctor?” but not really get involved in her response (which is usually something like, “oh because nobody tells me anything, I’m just a slave!”) In therapeutic terms I think this means I’m getting better at being Teflon coated: allowing her to vent but letting her angst and her projection just sit there and not pick it up. Sometimes, at least.
My therapist says that thoughts and feelings are largely involuntary. It’s what we do with them, and which ones we feed, that’s important. I’m learning to try to just observe those thoughts and feelings; not freak out about them or judge them. Easier said than done, of course, but small steps.
When I first found out my father was in hospital I thought and felt nothing.
Not even, “oh no.”
Like, “there’s no mail today”. Or “there’s a black sock”. Not even, “damn, I’m out of milk” – just “oh”. Although I did start to wonder “could this be it?” – “could he actually die this time?”
Part of me was pleased I didn’t get all wiggy about it, but I’ll admit I also felt guilty for not really caring one way or the other, and for wanting him to die. But regardless I went on my merry way.
Like many thoughts and feelings, something soon snuck up on me. The grief started kicking in. As I have said before, and Kate and David too, the survivor grief about what is lost and what will never be is HUGE.
My therapist says it’s a kind of hope in disguise, even if we don’t label it as such. While he’s still alive, there’s some small part of me that holds hope for a “normal” relationship with him. To be loved and cherished the way most daughters are, even if rationally I know this will never happen. I guess it’s this same part that still wonders “why he never loved me?” and “what did I do wrong?” – although rationally I know I didn’t do anything “wrong”.
I’m not sure where this will all lead, but I’ll let you know. The on-again-off-again of his life is driving me nuts. Could something happen please God, one way or the other, so I know what I’m dealing with?