yeah... still on the mend...

You can tell... whether or not someone has lost someone close to them. Not because they say all the right things or know the magic words to make you feel better. Survivors know what not to say... and what not to ask. Over the last two weeks there is one question over the others that just seems worse. Now, I know that nobody means any harm or hurt by asking, cause they really do care and are concerned and simply just don't know what else to ask. One might assume the question would be the first ones asked. The shock filled wonder of any sudden event... What? Who? However, in reality, those don't bother me so much, maybe because I myself don't totally believe the what or the who. The question that gets to me the most... How are you doing?
It hurts because I don't know how I am doing. I only know how I am not doing. I would love to say that I am fine... that I am getting back into the swing of things... that I don't cry much anymore... that it doesn't hurt to breathe... but I'm not... I am nowhere close... I do cry, a lot... and it does. So if I simply respond, "I'm okay" please don't pry. I don't want to talk about it. Talking leads to thinking. Thinking leads to tears. Tears just bring more pain.
I don't want to discuss how I thought it would be at least a little bit easier by now. That I wouldn't still hope or look for any evidence that he isn't really gone.
I don't want to discuss that I can't sleep. No, I am afraid to sleep. Afraid of the inevitable and the possibility that comes with sleeping. The inevitability that I will wake up another morning to face another day and to put on another "show". But the possibility is worse. Most nights I dream about him. Dreams of better days past. Dreams about hopes and wishes that are now impossible. Dreams so real, waking up, the real world seems like a dream and dream life seems real. The painstaking amount of time that it takes every morning to convince myself of what is real and what is no longer anything more than a memory. Even worse are the dreams and I guess day dreams recalling that morning. My door opening. My mom's face. My dad's cold hand. However, the worst are the dreams that I could have done something. That I could have notice a sign, seen something that I hadn't before.... that I could have saved him.
I try not to think about it during the day. I try to stay strong for my mom and my younger siblings. I try to stay strong for me. But it is hard. Going to to church without him. Coming out of my room and hot hearing him hum some gospel song. Smoking a cigarette before pulling the car around. Sitting in our seats, singing the songs. I couldn't sing because in every song, I heard his voice loudest of all. Sunday afternoon. When he use to putz around in his workshop is now silent. Sunday nights when we would silently battle who could stay up longer. To win and see the light go off under my door and hear him walk to bed. To lose and fall asleep to the sound of his TV. Now it is just a cold, dark, silent and lifeless garage. Monday morning. Monday mornings terrify me now. While most of the world hates Monday mornings I use to love them. Mondays were my favorite days. Mondays were our days. Mondays were something we shared. A small thing in common... a day off... a day home... together. Mondays were something I looked forward to. Now, I don't look forward to much. I can't tell whether it is the house that is now cold, dark and empty or if it is the people living in it.
Today I went with my mom to do some paperwork and official business. My dad once said he was worth more dead than alive, and I guess, if you look at the dollar amount, he might be right... but I would rather live on the streets, starving, freezing with nothing as long as he was there with me. It all just seems so unfair.
Also, I am surprised at who truly seems to care. There are two people in particular that I was surprised to see that they even still in last day, text me to see how we are holding up and one, who numerous times has told me his shoulder is ready and waiting for when I need it. These two people I have known for a while but never really thought of them as friends. I was wrong. And on the flip side. There are people who I thought the world of and now realize, they are really nothing special, and again I was wrong.
Lastly, through all this it has been brought to my attention how much a card or flowers mean to the soul. That they really do make you feel loved. I want to get better about cards and letters. I want to be a better daughter. A better sister. A better granddaughter. A better niece. A better cousin. A better friend. A better person. To not let the petty past torture my soul. To let go of the things I can not control and actually live life.
Love, K

one week later

... everyday is a battle. Everyday is hard. It is waking up every morning and convincing myself again that he really is gone. That it wasn't just a dream. It is laying in bed and crying till I am certain I can face the day, my family, and whatever new challenges lay ahead. It is the thousands of knots in my stomach making me feel sick. It is the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. It is the burning from the river of tears that never seems to run dry. It is aching red eyes. It's runny chapped noses. It's in every pocket filled with kleenex. All these things I thought would be under control by now, and though they are better, it feels like it will never go away. It is wanting to call out to him to ask him some stupid question. It is looking at his workshop every morning and not wanting to move a single thing. It is the fear of repeating the actions of that night. It is the dreams that wake me. The dreams that haunt me. It is in the way I can't really talk about it. It is in the way I don't want to talk about it because that would make it real. It is the hole inside me, making me empty. It is the cards, messages, texts and hugs that even though they are in best of intention, just make me sad. It is seeing grown men cry. It is seeing all the people who loved him. It is finding out all the things that make him an even greater man than I ever could have dreamed. It is the loaded silence that now fills the house. It is that big green truck in the driveway. It is seeing my mother break down, numerous times a day. It is watching my siblings deal with their own greif in their own way. It is my own heart... breaking.... that is what hurts the most.
All the extended family is now gone home. Back to their lives. Back to normal. ...normal... I was never happy with my life. Always wanting more, and now, all I want is just a little tiny sliver of that "normal" and savor it. This last week has been hard, but I fear this next week will be harder still. The going back to school. Back to work. Cleaning out the garage. Cleaning out the workshop. Cleaning out his closet. Cleaning out the house. Some of it will be good for the soul... to get rid of all the crap we needed to go through for years but never got around to.... but then there are the things that will kill me. The things that were so him that it hurts to just look at them without him. It is his new presents he was so excited to recieve. It is the things he should still be using today. It is sweeping up the pieces and putting them back together to make something that hopefully will somewhat resemble a normal life. I am not looking forward to the next week... not even a little bit... not even at all.
Love, K

Death... death is easy. Life... life is hard. However, living after a death... that is almost unbearable. I never gave much thought to a life without my dad, because I thought we had time. I thought he would get to see his youngest daughter and only son graduate from high school. I thought he would get to walk his girls down the isle. I thought he would get Cody to change his mind about football and one day, see him go pro. In all these situations, I could see him glow. His huge smile, tears in his eyes, and look of sheer joy on his face. But of all the things he will now miss, the thing that saddens me the most is that he will never get to meet his grand kids. That man loved babies.
It is weird the things you think of. How he was always going to teach me how to work on cars. How he always wanted to fix up that stupid camper out back. How we could sit in the garage and plan for hours what would happen if we won the lottery. All those plans, dreams, hopes, and wishes... The stupid things you wonder about. Who is going to wrap all the Christmas presents. Who is going to cut the meat at dinner. Who is going to carve the meat at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. The stupid little things I know I will miss. Him talking me down after a fight with my mom. Him talking reason into me when I want to go do something reckless. Him telling me he loved me and he will miss me when I go camping. How he always told me to be safe when I left for the desert. Hearing him say hey when he walked up the stairs. The battle of who could sleep in longer on Monday mornings. Monday mornings. Cutting his salt hair that has lost all the pepper. Coming out of my room to see him doing something naughty in the garage. Seeing the light go out from under the door to know he is going to bed. Hearing him hum on Sunday mornings. Him. The stupid things that remind me of him in an instant. My headboard. All the shelves in my room. The carpet in my apartment. The color on the wall. Certain songs on the radio. Certain little things that I would never that thought twice about.
Last night, when I was trying to go to sleep, I kept telling myself I will get through it. That this will all, one day, be okay. But as the river of tears kept streaming... I knew it isn't going to be okay. Life will never be normal, because what is normal? There is so much going through my head it is hard to get a handle on any of it. I appreciate all my friends who have reached out but as for this moment in time, I just need to be left alone. I need to figure out how I will deal with it. I will let you know how I am doing on that.
Love, K



Hey Dad, Between now and then, till I see you again, I'll be loving you.
Love, Me

... favoritism ...

Being a part of the Intoxicated Geniuses makes me happy. We are a diverse group of people who somehow seem like we are all the same person. Not just because we all get along and enjoy the same things, but because at times, we even think the same things and finish each other's sentences. Now of course we fight because we are all different from different backgrounds. Raised in, for the most part, completely different worlds. Making us love each other all the more! I love my friends. Now that being said, at times, I do have favorites. Sometimes, one genius understands my trials better than another. Darwin and I share something special, none of the other geniuses seem to understand the appeal of Edward, Emmett, Jasper and even lil' 16 year-old Jacob. Grey and I have something no other genius has... we not only share memories of the survival of our youth but we also share DNA. BUT! Today, Freud has won my heart simply by knowing I am a girl and knowing one of my greatest weaknesses. Today, she sent me flowers in a large margarita glass. That is pure genius at it's finest. Look at what she did!!

She would be your favorite too huh?? I know. I have an amazing friend. I am not ashamed of it... I can be bought!

So I had other things to say but I am trying to do too much at one time and I am forgetting. I will remember soon and let you know all about it. So until then...

Love, K