Saturday, August 24, 2013

I've fallen, and I can't...

My Dad and The Kid
I haven't much felt like writing since my dad passed away. The tumor in his head won the turf war with his brain. It was early April when he slipped into a coma. A day later, two weeks before his 63rd birthday, he slipped away.

In terms of my grief, I think I may be stuck in the denial stage. I still can't believe he's gone, can't believe The Kid won't remember him, can't believe he'll never see my new house.

He was my advisor, my confidant, my cheerleader and the first man I ever loved. He was loved by most everyone who knew him--family, friends, clients & coworkers.

He was one of the good ones. I miss him every day.

Of late, I feel like I've been riding a roller coaster. Mom nearly died, and then The Kid was born. I was very stressed at work and then David got orders back to Maryland. Dad was diagnosed with a tumor, and then my sister, the SAHMnambulist, announced she's expecting her second child. Dad was given a bad prognosis and then we started looking for a house in Baltimore. The Kid had her first birthday, and then Dad passed away. We bought a new house and now I am having trouble finding a job.

It feels like all these ups and downs have shaken the chutzpah right out of me, leaving me doubtful,
insecure, unhappy: chutzpah-less.

I find myself buying crap for the house we don't really need--as if the right purchase would make me feel better. So far, I can assure you that neither shoe organizers, nor cleaning supplies, nor giant baskets for toys are my anti-sadness cure. I often feel empty and sad. I'll say to The Kid, "Mama isn't feeling well, sweetheart, but it isn't your fault. I love you very much." She smiles at me and makes things just a little bit better.

Yesterday, I got a very polite email from the HR department of the organization for which I'd hoped to work. They decided to offer the position to another candidate. The news hit me hard: another defeat in what feels like an unending streak.

Perhaps because of the lack of control in other parts of my life, I've become obsessed with cleaning my kitchen. My formerly nonchalant attitude about dishes and counter cleanliness has transformed into an almost unhealthy need to have a sparkling, spotless, and empty sink. Last week I wiped the fronts of the cabinets until I started to literally strip the finish from the wood.

Yet even as I go OCD in the kitchen, my home office remains half unpacked with an ever-growing stack of mail and papers waiting to be filed. Each day I tell myself I really should work on it, and each evening I go to bed without having touched it.

In short, I've fallen, and I can't get up. Here's hoping life's roller coaster has an upswing waiting for me on the horizon.