Establishing significance.

Tonight I began reading 'the reality of grief' by Doug Manning, book 2 in 'Continuing Care Series', a booklet provided to mum at appropriate stages throughout her grief journey. I'm glad she passed it onto me, and that on this day, I was open to reading it. As I read, I was surprised to feel 'normal', that how I feel, behave and am, is how others have felt and are also feeling. I'm 'normal'. Not some wacko freak, who feels anxious at the thought of meeting up with familiar people, friends. Anything out of my everyday and I panic. Any plans to be made and I can't cope and appear negative. I'm normal, other people feel disappointed with friends for the way they have reacted to my journey of loss, it's normal to get a bit angry or to feel sad, to express it and to want to shout to the world that my heart aches and feels torn and tattered, that I miss my dad immensely, and that until they too have experienced such a loss, they will never understand. I get that people just don't know how to deal with it, how to 'help'. Some people, whom I see as angels, have the ability to ask how I'm going and listen, they don't mind that I get tears, or want to say dads name. They genuinely care how I'm going, how mum is. They just seem to get it. Others completely pretend like nothing has passed, and I'm not sure what these people want from me, but I am not the same person I was before dads diagnosis let alone his passing, and therefore their approach angers me. Some ask, but try to make me feel better with some remark of, 'it'll get easier', 'as time goes on ...', I feel like shouting at them, I don't want it to get better, because if this happens, does that mean I will forget or have moved on and he really isn't a part of our lives anymore? I don't want to let him go.
So, I digress, establishing significance, in the booklet, they say you need to talk to friends, to list your losses, as sharing helps to establish the significance of what I have lost, to help understand why I feel the way I do, to realize how important he losses are.
So every now and then,(I'd love to say weekly, or regularly, but I just won't, as I just never seem to be able to follow through with any desire to continue with anything) I'm going to list a or a few losses associated with losing dad.
:: I miss his presence
:: I really miss calling him, hearing him say when he answered "whata you want?"
:: I miss hearing him call me bub.
:: I miss his presence for my kids, this in fact overwhelms me the most and I feel the loss well up inside me and dare to overflow from my eyes, my teeth, my heart. Everything hurts with this loss.
:: I can't stand the idea of a lifetime without him.
:: I have lost my backup man, he was always there behind me, ready in the wings, emotionally and physically, he would do anything for us.
:: when we were in geraldton after Christmas, the tyres on Abby's old bike were flat. There was no one to fix it. That was always a priority for dad, that the kids were happy. He would drop things to make sure things were right for his grand kids.

I could go on, but they are my losses I'm listing tonight.

1/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for 2013"

Missy Moo :: you are enjoying being upright, and you have taken the exciting and brave steps of letting go and walking on your own, just a couple of relatively steady steps. My baby is growing up!
Miss Mermaid :: a quick selfie with me, you are collecting shells at Jakes Beach, with your new kalbarri shirt folded up so you can collect the prettiest of shells, carefully chosen and delicately cared for.
Lil Mate :: worn out little man!! You still need a day sleep, or else you are asleep by tea time, which can be quite nice except if we're wanting to go off and do something! School holidays can be rather wearing for you as you try to keep up with Abby! You have developed so much this holiday break, you are less reliant in me (sniff) and your imaginative play has developed amazingly, so my sweet, rest when you can, because your little body and mind are so active when you are awake.

A third of a year passes ...

I'm lying on my old bed that was mine as a child right through to when I bought my own queen size bed. I'm looking out from the window that I looked out of and dreamt about the way I thought the world should be and the way my life would be, so many times.
I never thought I'd be here, in this moment, without my dad in the world. I'm in a phase at the moment, where I can breathe, I can think of him and I don't feel sick, lost and alone. I'm not panicking so much, there's just a tiny squirm in my tummy that reminds me all is not well, all is so definitely not right and never will be again. How do I live with this feeling :: forever? Im not so grumpy about it today, I'm just a bit numb again.
Tomorrow will mark 16 weeks since you passed dad. You at still so alive in me and my memory that I find it all too surreal. I wish you were here.