A Bewitchingly Ordinary Life!

It's been 436 days since Eric passed away.  One year and two months.  62 weeks and 1 day.  To be honest, I'm not sure some days how we got this far.  A part of me "knows" but a part of me does not. In those early days and weeks, two pieces of advice became a profound stepping stone on this journey. First, do not make any major decisions during the first year of losing a loved one. The second was "do the next thing".   I remember hearing the first one from the priest at my local Parish.  Trust me, I wanted to take my boys and run away.  To where?  I don't know.  I felt like I wanted to run and run and run.  I wanted to crawl out of my skin.  I wanted to be anywhere but here (then, in that present moment). The second piece of advice I heard at a grief support group.  One of the lovely people there was recounting the beginning days for herself and how she had heard that advice.  "Do the next thing".  If that next th...

 May 20th was 9 months.   Nine months that you've been gone.  It seems like a lifetime ago on some days.  On other days, it seems as if it was only yesterday. The passage of time brings distance between the tragedy and daily living. It does not bring comfort or healing.  Time doesn't heal all wounds.  I hate that cliche.   It doesn't make it easier to deal with.  Time doesn't do anything really, except march on. Ultimately, as time moves on, we feel left behind. Time doesn't help at all.  I think we've learned to compartmentalize.   This is work.  This is a compartment.  I have X.Y,Z to acccomplish.  I put a smile on.  I pep myself up.  I go on. This is school.  The boys have a subject to do.  They do X,Y,Z.  They put a smile on their face.  They pep themselves up. This is dinner time. This is TV time. This is grocery shopping time. This is laundry time. This is housecleaning ti...

  9/26/21 Several nights ago I had this dream, more like a nightmare.  I was driving with my sons on this narrow road along a mountain.  It was a brown desolate mountain, no green, no beauty.  On one side of the road was the side of the mountain, rising high into the air.  On the other side were raging waters, right against the edge of the road.  Angry, chopping, wave filled waters for miles and miles.  The road was so narrow and winding.  I was terrified of driving off into the waters.   I kept thinking “I just want my sons to be safe.  I just want my sons to be safe.”  Suddenly, I had driven into this huge pot hole in the road.  It looked to be about 2 feet deep.  I began to panic as I tried and tried to rev the car and get out.  Over the edge of the mountain I heard the roaring of something.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it terrified me.  I kept trying to get the car unstuck, all while prayi...

I want to say, walk away.   Keep scrolling. Do not read this. Why do I feel compelled to give that warning? Because of the content.  Because of various worldviews, values, beliefs that every person has. This post deals with working through the grief and the loss of my father. This post deals with memories that make me smile.  And how is that bad?  Or wrong? Well, it is not.  To some it will be.  To me, they are simply endearing memories that made my father, my father.   Memories that helped shaped my love for him, my view of him, and my view of the world. This post is my reality.   Let me be honest.  This post also deals with "drug" use to some degree.  Pot, MJ, 420, reefer.  Whatever you call it, if you feel that in all circumstances, no matter what, it should never be used then this post will not be for you. It could cause you to look at me differently.  It could cause you to have your own beliefs challenged.  It c...