Summertime is bittersweet...

Wow, blogger has changed since the last time I posted!  I can't tell if I like it or not.  I guess we will find out. 

So, the last time I left my blog, I was in a completely different place.  My blog switched from a place to air out my thoughts about random daily things, photos, and fun moments.  It transitioned quickly to a place for me to mark the cancer journey that my dad was about to embark on, and then it transitioned again to a place for me to post the latest information regarding what was going on with my dad.  I had so many sweet, wonderful people asking about him.  I must admit, rehashing the story was becoming harder and harder.  I had people wanting to know how my dad was, and I was neglecting to call them and update them.  It wasn't on purpose, I promise, it was out of sheer forgetfulness.  If you are one of those people, I'm sorry.  Then my blog transitioned again, to the place where I reflected on the last days with my dad.  Y'all, I'm being completely honest when I say this, when I started blogging about my dad in January, I didn't think I would end up with the latest post, "47 days."  I didn't think he would die.  I had the "thought."  But, I didn't think it would happen. 

I promise that one day, hopefully sooner than later, this blog can transition back to the fun stuff, the random news, and the fun pictures.  However, this blog is an online journal right?  I need to write what is on my mind, and well...everything I've been through is what is on my mind. 

Summertime is bittersweet.

I cried on the last day of school.  I will miss my sweet students.  I will miss working with my associate teacher.  I will miss my friends at school.  But, that's not why I cried.  I will see my sweet students every day next year as they walk in the 4th grade room.  I will work again with my associate teacher.  I will see my friends at school.  You see, leaving St. George's for the summer, means that I can't hide anymore.  St. George's kept me busy, and more importantly, St. George's kept me strong.  Now I have this huge bag of emotional, for lack of a better word, crap to go through, and I'm not ready for it.  That...is why I cried. 

My dad and I did not have a good relationship for the better part of my life.  Starting about age 13ish, you know, those bratty teenage years we had a rocky relationship.  It was a long string of events that is a blur when I look back on it.  There were the typical fight with your parents moments, unreasonable teenage reasoning skills, and the stubborn side of me that said, "I'm always right."  Then, there was a divorce.  A divorce that lead me to seeking more about myself, and I'll admit I did that through counseling.  That counseling lead me to realize that my dad had emotionally damaged me.  I was right, a lot of the time.  He was wrong in a lot of what he did.  There were nasty fights that lead to periods of time where I wasn't speaking to him.  There were heated moments, including the moment when he told me he wouldn't be coming to my wedding.  There were moments like when he called to apologize and beg to be invited back to the wedding and I told him no.  Oh, ouch.  It hurts my heart to say that.  When I spoke to several wise people about that, they assured me I made all the right decisions.  But, if I'm being honest, there is a tinge of regret there. 

Last summer, my dad and I were not speaking.  It was after the wedding.  Before the summer began, I asked Chris to call my dad.  I wanted to open the lines of communication back up again.  My dad told him, "Maybe we can talk again, in a year."  Chris quickly reminded him, a lot can happen in a year.  A year later, my dad is no longer here. 

We did reconnect.  LAST summer, one of my dad's good friends called me.  My dad was in the hospital.  He had abdominal surgery on some pretty bad abscesses.  She called because she was worried about how he was doing, and knew I needed to be involved.  So, I guess you can say that God made my dad open up the lines of communication.  He spent the better part of the summer there.  Had 2 or 3 surgeries while he was there.  Our relationship slowly mended.  It was never the same, but it was better. 

He went home from the hospital, and he even was told by the hospital staff to go an see someone about the "situation" which turned out later to be cancer.  We talked often, mostly about Memphis Tiger's sports.  We talked about safe topics.  Avoided the hot spots.  We got together during holidays.  I would say that my worry for my dad's health began around Thanksgiving.  When he came over for dinner, used the restroom and I later found that he left blood on the toilet seat.  Of course I asked him about it.  He said that he just had bad hemorrhoids (sorry, TMI) and he was going to go to a specialist just after the holidays.  He said that he knew he was going to have to have surgery on them, and he didn't want to spend Christmas in the hospital. 

And that is how he arrived at January 26, 2012.  When he went to see Dr. Matthew and was rushed to the hospital. 

In retrospect, everything about the situation that I dealt with, in regards to my dad, it makes sense that I am here, pondering his death.  We had horrible nurse experiences, numerous doctors, and countless surgeries, procedures and tests run.  None of these factors ever once told us that my dad was dying.  But now, when I look back.  When my dad was here for Thanksgiving, he was dying then. 

That's the thing that hospice teaches you.  The dying process can last for up to 6 months.  How long was Baptist hospital going to cut, test, and poke my dad until he died?  I have no idea.  The morning that he called me wanting to, "give up," I didn't know what to do.  I was so glad that Father James, from school, could go with me.  I can describe what it's like to sign DNR on your dad.  I can't explain what it's like to frantically go to my dad's bank to have them help me figure out finances and how to arrange his funds in such a way that I would have access to them after he passed.  I can't explain to you what it's like to pull up to a hospice house and say, "so this is where people go to die." 

I find myself wanting to go back to the hospice house.  I want to see if that sweet man that walked up and down the hall in his pajamas is still able to walk.  I want to know if that little old lady across from my dad's room is still alive.  None of those people will leave alive, so why do I want to know this? 

Baptist and Hospice send you letters telling you that it's okay to grieve.  Really? Thanks, I didn't know.  But, here is the million dollar question, how do you grieve when you have the kind of relationship that I had with my dad.  I would love to find the person who wrote the book that will help me through this specific situation. 

So here is what I am left with.  A lot of memories, both good and bad, mountains of medical bills, a peace lily that I can't keep alive because I do NOT have a green thumb, an attorney that won't call me back because my dad's estate is not the most important thing on his plate right now, a condo to sell, a storage unit full of things that belonged to my dad, voice mails from my dad that I can't delete, phone numbers stored in my phone that I have disconnected because no one is there to pick up on the other end(again I can't delete them), and a feeling inside that I can't explain. 

When my dad was in the hospital, and on hospice I was very close to God.  We constantly were in connection.  My day was a constant prayer with him.  Well, now that my dad is gone, it's like I forgot what it's like to talk to Him.  I'm working on my prayer life with him again.  I still love the Lord.  Please don't get me wrong.  I just don't know what to say.  I guess that goes back to the sign that I have in my kitchen again, "God knows your prayers, even when you can't find the words to say them." 

Thank you to all of my family and friends for making these past several months much easier just because you are in my life.  I can't begin to describe the love that I have in my heart for all of you.  I promise one day, hopefully sooner rather than later, this blog will go back to what it was.  But, for now, I need to get this stuff out.  Thanks for listening, or um..reading? 

Much love,
Katie B.