I have been minimally surviving the last several day, re-living Dad’s dying is still so very painful to walk through again. Add to that I have run out of sleep meds and there’s a snafu with the prescription, I’ve been getting, oh, maybe 4 hours of sleep each night. Nice, eh? That’s one thing I do not understand about TBI is why in the heck wouldn’t your injured brain want rest in order to heal? I was never an insomniac pre-TBI. Bah!
And, my kitty with Kidney Disease, things are progressing and I need to take her into the vet every couple of days for subcutaneous fluids to keep her from slipping away more. So while I can’t sleep, I ruminate about doing the right thing, am I just postponing the inevitable? I know that is definitely the case. How is her quality of life? Is she happy about still being here or is she ready to go? Some of these questions will be shaped in the next couple of weeks as we get started doing the fluids every week.
I’m making myself try to imagine life without Tux being here, where we would bury her and everything. Part of me is saying this is all WAY too much right now. Being such a part of Dad’s passing, and, within days before his passing our neighbors put their dear dog (and our dear friend) to sleep.
But it can’t be too much because it is happening. I believe for Tux I’ll hold the same thing true as I have for my dear Dad and dog Rudy…as long as life holds you here, I will fight for you, but if it’s your time to go, I’ll help you go. It is the least I can do.
And the crying at the kitchen table. Yesterday Richard brought the mail in, and has been usual since February, some of the mail was for my Dad. Bills, I’m fine with. I opened a notice for the final reunion of Dad’s Navy Seabees Battalion and I completely lost it.
I was the one who got him in touch with the reunion committee years ago, Dad even hosted a reunion in Seattle which included everyone coming to Bremerton (where I lived at the time) so they could tour the USS Turner Joy. One of the gentlemen in the group had worked on that ship, it was the most surreal feeling to see that come full circle. I got teary eyed.
So yesterday, I cried and cried at the kitchen table remembering…and…letting myself feel how utterly painful it was to watch Dad waste away. I remember sitting there at Hospice feeling so terribly alone, feeling a kinship with every other soul in this world who has watched a loved one die. I thought of those in Calcutta dying in the streets, and those who experience the Holocaust, and millions of people who have shared in this same experience.
Being tired because of lack of sleep and now an emotional outpouring, I was…and still am exhausted. I’ve been having trouble staying focused, organized, and on task lately. I get little done by day, and am awake almost all night. Outside of the lack of sleep, I know it’s grief and I need to be gentle with myself. There is a reason it’s called grief ‘work’.
I will get back to blogging about the funeral as soon as I am able. Thanks for being here, dear readers. Life is still a precious gift no matter what.