The Blanket Fort Diaries.

Real talk. Pillow talk.

[oohadamae]

Grief is such a tricky thing.

One moment you are fine and then something small reminds you. Enough to make you grow quiet.

I grow quiet a lot.

I was at the counter at work the other day. A woman with an oxygen tank rolled up to ask a question. I kindly answered her and offered to grab the book she was looking for. But in between her pauses for breath I heard the familiar sound of the oxygen tank hissing with every breath she took. A flash of my Dad laying in bed, taking his last breaths crossed mind. I snapped back to reality and finished helping the woman. But that thought, that sound, sat with me the rest of the day.

I was cleaning up after a shower the other day and dropped my hair tie. I reached down to pick it up and noticed a small speckle of blood on the toilet rim. It immediately made me stop, the realization making my eyes fill with tears. See my mother was elderly, she was on hospice care, and she fell in that bathroom, she wound up hitting her head on the shower ledge and broke a few ribs in the process. She was already declining, but this fall ultimately rushed the process. Simply because her body couldn't take the pain from her broken ribs. It was a terrible end. I remember sitting in the ER with her knowing that this was it. She laid there, in bed for a week before her body gave up.

There it was , this little reminder...how everything ended so abruptly. A small speck of blood that I happened to miss when I was cleaning up.

Grief never goes away. It just lingers in the background. I have closed my eyes many nights and all I can see is my Mother or Father laying in bed, slowly dying. It's gut wrenching every time. But this is a part of caring for those who are dying. It's not always easy or pretty or short and simple. Sometimes it's terrible. And you can't forget it.

You just live with those thoughts forever.

[oohadamae]

Consistently fighting to be seen and heard.

It reminds me of my dark days. Of the isolation. Of covering my mouth and silently screaming while the pain ate away at my insides. Of that hollow feeling that I had, just moving about like I had no soul, like an empty casing sliding across the floor, artificial movements, like a robot, like a puppet, like some reanimated dead thing.

I've tried to fill that space with things that I can hold onto, things I will think of on my death bed, breathing shallow. I hope my last 7 minutes is a reel of those happy things. And not the dark days, not pain. Of the days when I felt , whole, and loved, and seen and heard.

The days when my laughter brought other's laugher. When my company was wanted, when my opinion, and long drug out thoughts were listened to. When my body was something that was desired along with my mind. When the music moved through me like a spirit.

I've definitely lost my luster. I've been told I try too hard, do too much and what no one knows...is there was a time when all I wanted to do was be free of this life and the pain. So let me fill my wounds with sugar. Let me be too much and help me figure out where I am safe.

[oohadamae]

It's days like this when I miss you the most.

Hard days. Days when everything goes wrong.

I wish I could call you on my drive home. Here you tell me that I was right for being angry, but I would be ok. When I could just drive over to your place, and sit with you, watching something stupid on tv, or pretending to, while we talked about anything and everything. Or play songs for each other, and talk about what they reminded us of. Sad songs were our specialty. I still can't listen to City and Colour without thinking of you.

I wish I knew how to live without you, I'm trying to, it's just... I miss having a best friend that I can count on. Who I can call and bitch about things to, whenever. Who genuinely cares..about me.

It's harder some days than others... But I never stop missing you.

Forever Beedoos. 🖤

[oohadamae]

Today you would have been 44. I probably would have razzed you about almost being 45 which is basically 50.

None the less this day has arrived and I can't believe it's been 5 years since I have made you a Birthday cake.

It's strange, the acknowledgement of your absence. I have days where I just sit in the car and cry, missing you, wishing I had more years, more time, more you.

This space that you took up has felt so bare.

I am getting older too though. I carry you with me in my graying hair. In my slight wrinkles around my eyes when I smile. I think about how much grey you would have in your beard now.

Wherever you are my dearest Sir, I hope you are eating chocolate cake, drinking beer and dancing.

I love you always.

[oohadamae]

I went to one of our old (favorite) places to eat lunch. I miss how we used to congregate here. Sometimes you, me and the little. Sometimes just you and me. I can still remember your order. Three beef tacos , meat and cheese only, no lettuce and rice and beans. Sometimes you would get a coke, sometimes you would get a 2 for 1 margaritas. And if we were feeling especially froggy, we would share a pitcher of margaritas. The way we would giggle and swagger out of there like the drinks weren't strong enough, knowing damn well that pitcher was full of the strongest margaritas in town.

I miss you, I miss how easy it was to "just be" with you. No explanation needed, just enjoying the quiet and the company.

I wanna be happy, "just being" again.

Here's to you beardy man, I ate a taco in your honor.

Beef, no lettuce, just meat and cheese. <3

[oohadamae]

It's that moment your jaw pinches. Right before the knot forms and your breathing gets slowly cut off. Like when you wring out a wash cloth, except , you can't breath.

That's how I know a panic attack is coming. I can't ever stop them, I just try to hold on and wait til it's over. Eyes watering, gasping for air like a fish out of water. It's a terrible, dreadful feeling.

I wish I could understand. But to me it seems so simple. And yet here I am moving inward again.

I told myself I wouldn't do this again, I wouldn't allow myself to feel this, and yet here I am. Afraid, hopeless, wanting to just rest.

Why is it so hard to love me?

Why ..do I always find myself questioning my own worth? Did I allow this to happen because I was too hopeful? I don't fucking know, but I'm tired, of being lonely and feeling like I will never be happy again.

The kind of happy when you just laugh, before you realize you are even laughing.

I'm tired of always hiding my sadness and feeling like I have no where to go. But with each day I just wake up and go through the motions, trying to feel real.

[oohadamae]

It's 2 am .

I haven't slept well in over a month.

Something about the quiet of the night that makes my head swim.

Things have been overwhelming. I don't even feel human anymore. Just a robot passing the days. A ghost in a paper shell.

I have no idea what it will be like when this is over and to be honest that scares me.

Life has not been kind and I'm afraid of this change.

Something big is coming, I've felt it for a long time and I don't think it will be good. It's like I have been preparing myself for something I don't even understand yet. Call it intuition...but it makes my guts hurt.

Mom is slowly fading away. It's a special kind of torture, watching someone die.

I hate it. Every second of it. I feel guilty for wanting it to end, because I know what that means .

So here I wait, pretending like I am keeping busy, but knowing how heavy the reality is.

I'm afraid of how this will change me as a person. I am tired of rebuilding and I feel like I lose more and more of myself the longer I push forward.

Somehow I just keep going.

It's 2 am and I can't sleep.

[oohadamae]

I sit quietly, alone, just me and Mom in the hospital room.

I wait. That's all you can do in these situations. I wonder how much time I have with her. It's tough watching her be so weak and out of sorts. But I wait.

No one teaches you about this. The heaviness of watching someone at the end of their life. The constant knot in your guts. The stress induced insomnia. The constant urge to make it better, even though you can't.

Doing this isn't for the weak.

It takes a strong soul to keep going, day after day, just pushing through, knowing that in the end you will lose so much. It's isolating, it's a constant realization that you can't stop time, or the pain.

I know it sounds so negative and honestly I don't want to add any floral notes to what I am going through. I want you to know how real and raw it feels. Mostly because, I want you to know, someone out there understands. Someone knows exactly how sharp the pain feels. How alone the grief is, how the dark thoughts just happen so frequently that you are just used to it now.

I know this is just temporary. But that too, comes at a cost. It makes you wonder about your own end.

How it will be, will someone be there or will you go alone and weary into the unknown.

I never thought about death too seriously, even when I saw it so many times as a kid growing up.

Watching someone die is a whole different thing. It stays with you, it lingers in the back of your brain, constantly reminding you that one day, you will not exist. You just take it with a grain of salt. Because no one can stop it when it does happen.

Oh how terrible it must be, waiting for that to happen. I hate it. It makes me tired and I refuse to swallow it down, the bitter pill of truth. Yet here I am, in the quiet, thinking about it.

[oohadamae]

It's moments like this. When it's quiet. And the world is so heavy in the silence.

It's moments like this when I feel helpless. Knowing what is coming and dreading it. But not being able to stop it or make it better.

Here I sit on the front porch of my childhood home.

I wonder how many more days I have with you. Time is ticking and I feel the pressure of the universe as it pushes you closer to the end.

I wanted this to be different. When Dad was sick and dying things were so incredibly hard. He was so angry and sad. No one took him seriously.

I was so angry and it felt like my chest would never stop burning and my mind would never turn off and the venom would never stop dripping from every word I said.

I wanted it to be different with you, Mom. I wanted to settle in with you , I wanted these to be the happy moments that played like a reel in your head as you drifted away sweetly. But death is never truly kind. It is simply an end.

I hate this. I am still angry. I am still alone in this grief and I am trying my best to not lose myself in the darkness that surrounds all of us.

I want you to go if you need to.

But I am not ready to be without you, I know that is selfish.

So I sit in the dark, wishing for the pain to stop.

But the pain means we are alive.

This can't be it.

Our lives can't be just waiting out the pain until the end.

[oohadamae]

Sometimes the words lay heavy in my throat.

The anger burns just below my skin and I want to hide away, away from everyone.

But here there is nowhere to hide.

Just me, out in the open.

Waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Waiting for the next kick in the face.

Trying my damnedest to keep fighting.

But I am terrified. All this loss reminds me of my own mortality and for the first time in my life, I am afraid. Afraid that one day my life will end. That I will be old and forgotten, that my beautiful girl will be alone. That my partner will have to live without me. Life is cruel. Life is unpredictable.

It makes my guts hurt.

[oohadamae]

Road trip thoughts, worries and setbacks. 9/11/23

Will we get past this? What happens when we do?

We have been fighting for 3 years now. Fighting just to live. It's been a hard fight and we are both tired, beyond tired. Although I am super grateful that you have stayed by my side through everything, I wonder in my heart of hearts if this is what you really want. Will it be enough, when everything is over and we can live "normal" lives again. Will we have lost too much of ourselves in the process. Will we have set too much aside.

It's hard to talk ...about anything without fighting. It's a constant need to be understood by someone who should understand you more than anyone.

So my question is, can we fix this?

I want to, but I'm scared you will want to get as far away as you can when the hard parts are over.

[oohadamae]

A few moments in the stacks. 9/5/23

I entered the bookstore, I was full of bright light and in a good mood. I carried the donuts I had purchased for the book babes and sat them in front of Angela as I reached for a hug. I miss those magical beautiful ladies. They have no idea how many dark days they have carried me through.

I left the conversation wondering the endless trails of books, working my way towards the poetry section. Rye has come to appreciate the greater quality of poetry and I wanted to pick her out a few things that would make her brain tingle,in only the way good writing does a hopeless romantic ADHD ridden teen. I love her, and her style. She's a great kid.

Walking along I trace the spines of books as I go by, taking in that familiar comfort and the smell of old books. I love it here. This place was my sanctuary.

I reached the poetry section. My eyes hit a book titled " I don't think about you (until I do).

For some reason it reminded me that today is Ryan's birthday. He would have been 41..42? Somewhere around there. It made me a lil sad. I considered doing what I usually do, buying a single slice of chocolate cake and eating it alone in my car while listening to our playlist. I thought to myself " god, and you wonder where Rye gets her emo tendencies from." It made me smirk. It would have also made Ryan smirk. He was a big softy at heart and he would have loved me thinking about him in such a sentimental way.

I pick out three poetry books and head to the horror section. Spooky season is upon us and I need to find time to read more.

[oohadamae]

Laying here, in the dark, in my feels.

The emotion of the day weighing on my chest.

Heavy thoughts, heavy everything.

Today was my Dad's birthday. He would have been 83. We would have celebrated in a joyous jubilee that he made it another year.

But he didn't.

Those last few months with him were hell. He was angry, and he had a good reason. Dying can't be easy. Knowing it's coming, waiting day in and day out, pleading with people to have some sympathy. Ugh, the thought makes my chest tight. I hate how things ended between us.

We always tried to show up for Dad's Birthday. Always tried to make it super special. Always a cake and red roses. There was neither this year and I feel some guilt about that. I didn't mention it. I know Mom forgot, she's 96, and I didn't want to be the one to remind her. So I stayed quiet and grieved on my own.

[oohadamae]

For a few days we slept in a different bed. In a different house. In a different city.

Those walls didn't know our loss. Only us in the moment. Only the bright, talkative, visitors that came to escape reality.

This trip was a lot more difficult than expected. It was a small reminder that things are still hard. That leaving "home" doesn't change that, we eventually have to return.

It's difficult to come home. It's difficult to remember. But at least we are together.

[oohadamae]

Tonight I saw you in everything.

In the lights, the music, the laughter around me.

I remembered you there by my side, dancing.

Those were the days. We were so carefree and I hate that you are missing out.

My legs they don't move like they used to.

A small sway is as far as I get. Remember our first show together? You asked me if I needed you to guard me from the pit, you smiled as I ran off into the thick of it and came out sweaty, hair wild, you told me that the message was received, you understood I could handle myself.

I think that's why you liked me so much, you had a soft spot for strong women who had a soft spot for stubborn men.

You never held me back, and I appreciated that.

It's been almost three years. I still feel that emptiness beside me. I still find you in the little things. My memories are so fond. It's hard some days. Being here without you, carrying on as if you will be back some day. It's still hard to realize you won't be.

But I still smile when I think of you. I hope I never stop doing that.

[oohadamae]

Guilt is a part of grief.

His last meal was chicken and stars Campbell's soup and chocolate pudding (which was his favorite). Probably not the best meal but it's the only thing he could swallow.

He could talk at this point, but as I spoon fed him, I talked to him and asked if he wanted more. He communicated with small nods.

The moment he started fighting to take the mask off his face is when it really hit me. This was it. This was the last time I would see him alive. The last time he would hear my voice.

He got quiet after that. He wasn't responding with nods. But he could still hear me. At least I hope he could. I stood there with tears streaming my chest tight and all I could think about was how angry I was. How terrible things had been the last few months and how the last thing I said to him while he was still able to move and speak and emote was angry words.

The guilt was so heavy, and the anger burned in my chest and the words just came so easy then.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Dad. I do love you. "

I tucked him in, and ran my fingers over his silver hair and left the room. I told him I would be right back to check on him.

Then he was gone. And that was it.

I hope he heard me.

[oohadamae]

Eulogy

My Father is dying.

I have been thinking about what I want to say at his wake alot.

The past year has not been easy. My father has taken it upon himself to use his sickness as leverage to feed his narcissism and to be honest it has made me quite cynical. I still love him, but I have realized there is another side to him that I honestly dislike.

I try to remember that he is the same Dad who I adored growing up. Who I spent every waking moment with when I was small. Who's hand I to hold in order to fall asleep. Who's warm hugs made me feel safe. Who wiped my tears when I was experiencing heartbreak. Who made me proud. He's still in there somewhere.

It's hard because I am angry. At him, the situation, the odds.

I am mad that my last few years/months with him have been soiled by his complete lack of care. I wish I could have had a better ending.

So what do you say when you are angry and full of venom.

Do you talk about how your parents are human? How they make mistakes and don't have all the answers, how they don't always do the right thing?

Do you tell everyone, "you know at the end he was a real shit, but hey he was my Dad!" ?

You know, we try to do the right thing. We try to give back the care we received from our parents at the end of there lives. In their old age. But we are also sacrificing.

So I guess what I'll say is this....

My Dad tried his best. He did what he could. He loved how he knew how to love. Was he perfect? No. Did he always do the right thing? No. But he was human, and I believe he did love me and my mom and my siblings to the best of his ability. He deserved a better ending. We all did.

I will remember him as the man who danced with me to Rockin' Robin while developing pictures in his dark room. The man who kissed my mother 3 times before saying goodbye or goodnight. The man who sat by me when I had my daughter and was over joyed with happiness. Who held my hand when I was scared and who molded me into the strong woman and mother that I am today. I will remember that he loved us a bushel and peck and a hug around the neck. The Love, the love is what I will remember.