The Brutality of Experience...

I guess the first time for everything has its own hardships.  I have never had to walk through a close family members death. Sitting bedside to death’s fickle decision making as to when this person you love will actually leave.  Your job is not to know anything, but to witness.  I never knew witnessing would be so fucking hard.

I wake up and do my routine because I am not sure who I will become if I let it go...and then I go sit next to my dad’s bed and wait with him.  Watching for micro adjustments in his breathing, his movements, any sign at all that he is suffering.  Then take action when needed or appropriate.  Then I go home and crawl into bed and nap, which I never do unless I am sick.  And I guess, I am kind of sick. Sick of death’s trajectory and pace, sick of losing my dad, sick of well, pretty much everything right now.

I have zero bandwidth.  I am exhausted and I do not want to do this anymore.  And I know, that I do not have a choice.  There is no away around this, only through.  And it sucks.  All of it.  I hate that he is suffering.  I mean the drugs are making it bearable, at least I think they are, so hard to tell what is going on with him, really.

A friend from program stopped by yesterday to say goodbye to him. It was such a welcome reprieve to our death watch.  Someone new to bring some light into an ever darkening room.  Thank God for her.  So grateful for her visit and loving concern for all of us.  Such good people in this life.  Such good fucking people.

After my nap, I went back to sit bedside again.  Waiting, watching, anticipating, advocating.  I stayed until he was comfortably situated and then I came home and crawled back into bed and begged for sleep to take me.  I do not possess the ability to deal with this 24/7.  I need sleep to remove me from this harsh reality and grant me moments of peace and rest.  Although, my dreams are not really peaceful and I keep waking up at 10:30 or 11:30 sure it is time to get up and start the day.  Luckily I have been able to go back to sleep.

I know we all get our turn in the brutality of experience.  I know that I am not being singled out or targeted.  I know this is just our path right now. And I know it is drawing to a close.  And I find myself in need of comfort I cannot seem to find or provide.  What I would not give to curl up with someone who loved me and just cry.  And I guess I do have that because my bed is littered with cats. They seem to know I am going through it and whenever I crawl in, so do they and lie about me and on me, purring as if nothing is wrong at all.  Or perhaps they are purring because they know it is all feeling very wrong right now.  Regardless, they are here and I am grateful.

I do not know what I am doing but I am experiencing this.  All of it.  My feelings, my loss, his demise, all the things.  And I feel supported and graced overall, but that does not take away the brutality of this particular experience.  I do not love it.  And I know I will grow and expand and it will and is changing me.  And I know that within the grief and sadness there is great love and forgiveness.  I know I shall walk through this, but today, it just feels exceptionally hard and painful.  And I feel drained in a way that I am sure I haven’t experienced before.  I am not interested in much of anything and at the very same time I feel bored and out of sorts.

Death is a brutal teacher.  Mostly lessons we could have lived our whole lives without, except that isn’t true.  Death is part of living.  Always.  And while this particular experience feels raw, hard and devastating, it is just another lesson of living.  We learn to let go of all the things we hold dear because sooner or later, we all shall leave.  Some in good time, some way too soon.  Is there ever enough time with someone you love?  

The answer is no.  There is never enough time with someone you love.  Ever.  That is the human experience.  We fail to value it when we have and can only truly appreciate it when it is gone or leaving.  My God we are a fucked up species.  I mean, some of us are doing the work to heal that which causes us such great dissatisfaction with living.  And I guess, death is the teacher who shows us, brutally, all the places where we are holding on, need to let go and how much value another person can add to our life.

I really wish I could learn things through happiness and joy and grace.  But I seem to learn my best and greatest lessons through subtraction.  And this experience of losing my dad is no different.  Just harder than I thought it would be. So very much harder...

Again, still...