Slowly, VERY slowly, it starts to hurt a little less.

I wrote this post in my journal on April 13th, the day after the 3 month anniversary of Dad's passing. I sat in a crowded breakfast restaurant, alone, and wrote for quite a while. I cried, as I wrote. I didn't bother to try to hide my face, as people walked past me looking curious, judgmental, and sympathetic. I ignored them and kept writing. I had to. I was having one of those weeks, actually 2 of them, where I couldn't see a light at the end of the tunnel. It had to come out, so here it is.

Well, yesterday was the 3 month mark of Dad's passing. I was alright for most of the day and I honestly didn't even think about the date, until later in the day. 

Dad's birthday was on the 9th. That day was a little rough for me. I decided that we should go out to dinner and celebrate his birthday, as a family. It was a really nice dinner. Everyone got along. We laughed and had a good time and everything felt normal. It was a nice night. 

This has been a really rough year already, for so many reasons and I can say that I honestly can't wait for it to be over with. 

Since Dad passed away back in January, both kids have had birthdays, my daughter had her first county wide chorus performance, my parents' anniversary has come and gone, I have gotten officially divorced (feeling like a COMPLETE failure, there), my ex-husband's birthday has come and gone, the relationship that I had with my girlfriend of a year and a half came to an ugly end, resulting in the kids and I moving out AGAIN, and now we're coming up on my birthday (which I could honestly NOT care any less about, at this point).

It really is all moving along so quickly and the pain of Dad's passing has begun to hurt just a little less, but there are still those moments where I see, hear, or do something that I want or feel the need to tell him about or show him, so I'll start to call him. That's when it hits me and the hurt is fresh all over again. Though it doesn't burn as bright or for as long as it once did. This is how I know that the healing has begun. Well, the healing from his passing away, anyway. All the other stuff? Yeah...... That's gonna take a bit longer, I'm thinking.

I believe the hardest part of all of this is the fact that I have to get through and figure all of it out on my own. I don't want to. Some days, I'm not sure if I can. I want someone else to direct me and tell me what to do and what is best for each person involved. I want to revert back to my "robot mode" and work my ass off and not think or feel anything. Unfortunately life doesn't work that way and neither do I. When I try to turn off my thoughts and emotions, people can see it. Well, the people in my life that care enough and know me well enough to see it when it happens. When these people see me start to shut down, like I've been trying to do lately, just to make the hurt stop for a little while, it worries them. I don't like to make the people that I care about and that care about me worry, but I also feel like there are times that I feel like I NEED to completely shut down just to make it through. 

I want my friends and family to know that I will be ok in the end, but I need to shut down from time to time and it's not because of them. Unfortunately, I haven't figured out how to shut down just certain parts of myself and keep the other parts of me that affect them up and running. I've tried and I continue to, but I have never been the type of person that can separate one part of myself from all of the other parts. It's all or nothing, with me.  

Written on St. Patrick's Day, 2014

It's been quite a while since I've posted anything that I've written. I have written a few times, but the mood always strikes and things come pouring out when I am nowhere near a computer. I took to carrying around my journal (yes, a REAL LIFE leather-bound paper journal WITH A REAL PEN to write in it) to write down my thoughts. In the instance of St. Patrick's Day this year, I didn't have anything to write in or with, but I had my phone with me. I had to write something, because it was the anniversary of an important day in my memories of my dad. So, thanks to the Evernote application (which has saved my sanity, memory, and sometimes a 2nd trip to a hardware or grocery store) I was able to type out something short and quick, as it came to mind. I figured that I would post it later that day, but as it always seems to do, the day and my life got quite busy and hectic. Now that I have the time and the quiet, I figured it was as good of a time as any to go ahead and get it up. (even though I'm about a month and a half behind, such is my life)

Dad and I St. Patrick's Day, 2011

"Happy St. Patrick's Day, I guess. 

This is yet another bittersweet day. Today marks 3 years ago that my father had his first chemotherapy treatment. 

That day, despite the circumstances and everything life was throwing at us, was a good day. We laughed together. A lot. We cracked inappropriate jokes with and about each other, as this Bosworth is known to do. We hugged each other. We hoped together. 

But most of all, we loved and supported each other. And we made sure that each of us knew it. 

We are a family, in the sense that we stick together and are there for each other. No. Matter. What. Family, given or chosen, is what is most important."

Day 2

Just to inform those of you that swing by to read what I have to share; my father passed away on Sunday, January 12, 2014, just after 10 a.m. It was a beautiful, sunny, but cool morning here. I was with him along with our long-time family friend, Clara. He was alright. He wasn't in any pain and he wasn't scared. He was finally pain-free and at peace. He had a look of relief and the barest hint of a smile on his face.

♥ My father with my son ♥

Today is a gloomy, rainy, and somewhat chilly Tuesday.

Today is Day 2.

Dear GOD, it hurts...

Just to breathe hurts. The only thought playing over and over in my head on a loop is "Just keep moving. If I keep moving, it won't hurt so badly." I know that this is a lie that I tell myself so that I don't fall apart. Truthfully, it helps. Very little, but it dulls the pain ever so much.

I just want to find a place with no people, no noise, just space. I just want to run until my legs or my lungs give out on me... And then I want to sleep. For as long as possible.

I won't ever be the same. None of us will. I know that eventually- at some point- I will be ok. We all will. But for now...

When we explained to my 10 year old daughter that he was gone, her most heart-wrenching cry was that she would never be able to hear Papa's voice calling her "Sissy" (as in Little Sister) and that we'd never hear Papa's laugh again. I feel like my 10 year old daughter today.

The hardest part of all of this, for me, and apparently for her, is that I just want to talk to my dad. I want to hear him tell me another story of the jackassery that has gone on at his work, or something ridiculous that he and his brother and their friends did together in high school so that I can laugh with him. Just one more time. I want to laugh and feel whole again.

It's only day 2.

God, I miss him.

*sigh* Hardest point in my adult life, so far.

Well, this is it. The first post on a new blog. Unfortunately, it's not one of those inspiring and gushing posts about how wonderfully I am going to kick 2014 in the ass and be better than ever.
No.
This post is about something completely different. This is a post about struggle, pain, sadness, love, loss, life, death, heartache, and trying to muddle through it all without an instruction book.

Today is Friday, January 10th, 2014. We are officially 10 days into a new year and it already SUCKS GIANT ROTTEN DONKEY TESTICLES! I'm not saying this in a humorous and entertaining way. I'm being honest and sharing the raw horror and pain that my year is starting out to be. A year that is almost guaranteed to be one of the hardest years I have had to make it through, thus far.

As I type, I'm sitting beside one of the strongest, most stubborn and wonderful men I will ever have the opportunity to meet in my entire life. This man is my father. At the same time I say he's my father, the man I currently sit next to is not. This person is a mere shadow of the greatness my father has always been in my eyes and it is FUCKING KILLING ME.
He is sleeping and struggling right now. He's struggling to breathe and struggling through an unimaginable amount of pain. He's struggling just to survive for one more day. One more minute.

He's dying. Right before my eyes. It's breaking my heart. And everyone else's.

My father has been battling Soft Tissue Sarcoma for the last 3 years. He's been through chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, more chemo, more radiation, hospital stays, more chemo and radiation, more hospital stays, and now we sit in the Hospice House wing at Bayfront Medical Center just waiting.

We aren't waiting for a miracle. We aren't waiting for an appointment. We're just waiting. We're waiting to see what happens. We're waiting to be here when he asks for anything. We're just..... Waiting.
And it sucks so bad.

There are so many emotions and thoughts running through me right now and I can't type fast enough to get them out.
I'm angry that this is happening to our family. AGAIN. We've dealt with too many different types of cancer, already. We've dealt with too many deaths from every generation. I'm sad. This is my Dad and I want to keep him. I need him. I'm confused and hurt. Why him? Why so young? just. Fucking. WHY? I'm relieved, as bad as that may sound. I'm relieved that he won't have to undergo another round of chemo that has him sick as a dog for an entire weekend and then weakens his marrow that he has to get an injection that makes every bone in his body ache, horribly. I'm relieved that his anxiety and panic will no longer keep him up at night, which also will no longer keep my mother and brother up at night. I am relieved that this massive tumor that has taken over his entire right lung, and then some, will no longer make it so painful to move. I'm relieved that he will finally feel relief. I feel guilt that I didn't and couldn't do more. Help more. BE MORE. For him, for my mother, and for my brother. I am thankful. I am thankful that my brother had the strength and determination over these last 3 years to help my father when he needed it. I am thankful that we have those few friends and family that went so far out of their way to call and/or show up when things were looking so horribly dark for our family. Even if said family had to drive all night from friggin OHIO just to make sure they could be there for not only my father, but for us.

I am also left with so many questions that I want to ask him.
Have I become a woman that my father is proud to call his daughter? When I signed that paper, was it what he wanted and needed? Did I let him down and disappoint him more times in my life than I made him laugh and feel pride in my accomplishments? Can I truly handle knowing that there is going to be a day, much sooner than any of us want, that I think of something that I want to tell or ask him and realize that he's not there for me to call? Have I given him enough confidence in me to make sure that he knows that I will always be there to help my mother and brother when they need me? Does he know that we are all going to eventually be ok, even though none of us will ever be the same when he's gone? Are my kids going to be ok when all of this is said and done? Is my mother? What about my brother? Are we all going to really and truly be alright once my dad is gone? What about his father and sisters and brother? How pissed would he really be if he knew that I planned to hunt down papers with his last name written in his handwriting and have that transformed into art and permanently inscribed on my body? Would he understand and be less pissed, even if just a little, that it is my way of showing how proud I am to call myself his daughter?

I know that many of my fears and questions seem trivial. This is what death brings to the forefront for me. All of that trivial stuff that we all know isn't really that important. All of those questions that no one else is able to answer for us to make us feel any better about the current situation we are all struggling to make it through. It all runs around in my mind like spider monkeys on crack.

Every second that he's still here is another second I am simultaneously thrilled about and torn apart by. These are the moments that confuse and anger me, because I know that they will forever be gone. At the same time, some of those moments are waved at as they pass, with a bit of snark and relief, because I know I won't have to go through them all over again.

I will stay here. By my father's side. As long as it takes. I want him to feel, even if he doesn't consciously know, that he is not alone and that he is loved. We all love him. He is already being missed and he always will be. We all understand. And that it is eventually all going to be ok.