Oscars

So I think I'm all fine with my son not wanting contact with me. But as much of a celebrity-ophile as I am, I cannot bring myself to watch even a moment of the Oscar's for fear of running into Juno. So I know I'm not completely okay about it. Of course. Duh. And then, as I'm in another room and my husband is flipping channels, he momentarily pauses as I hear the words Keri Russell and August Rush come out of the TV. And I cringe. I try not to listen, but I hear something about "better life".

Love Day

A person reminded me that Thursday is Love Day. Of course, I was ready to immediately respond with, "Oh yes, I realize it's Valentine's Day," but, before I could, she continued with, "Don't forget to enjoy all the love you have in your life," and it stopped me in mid-breath.

I love the positive spin on it. It's instinctual these days for me to look at everything in my life within the context of no longer having my dad. In the brief second that I focused only on the love currently in my life, I felt a joy I haven't felt in ages. I want to hold onto that.

It's kind of like something my husband heard about disciplining kids .. don't tell them what not to do, tell them what to do. For example, instead of, "Don't climb" say "Get down from there." Use an action item they can respond to in the affirmative. I've found it's 95% effective with my daughter. (Yes, that's a gut percentage, not a scientific finding.)

Makes sense for her; makes sense for me.

Love Day it is. I am going to try to apply that to every day.

Grief sucks

I still haven't processed any of my grief over my dad's death.

Heath Ledger's death a couple of weeks ago really set me off. Already a troubled sleeper, it just was the end for me.

I didn't know Heath. I'm not sure I've even seen any of his movies. (Okay, a quick side trip to imdb confirms that I have not seen any of his movies. And did you know his full name was Heathcliff?) I am, however, addicted to celebrity news and his daughter, Matilda, was born just a month after mine, so we have that in common. And his death, to me, signaled another girl losing her daddy and as I grieved for Matilda I could no longer fully contain my own grief. Yet I still have not addressed it and instead I've been cranky, sullen and snappish.

Matilda is only 2 and she will barely remember her father, yet he loved her dearly (from all reported accounts; again I knew him not). It is so tragic.

I don't care how old you are when you lose the parent that you hold dearest. It just hurts.

There is nothing I can do to change how things played out with my dad. The lack of control to do anything that would change the outcome, the lack of his presence here on earth ... the loss is just overwhelming if I let myself acknowledge it, and when I try to sleep is when it becomes hardest to push the thoughts and memories away. I am just filled with so much anger and sorrow.

My daughter developed a slight cold over the weekend and yesterday afternoon she was wheezing as loud as my dad was. Panicked, I rushed her to the doctor to learn what I really did know deep down ... just wait another day or so and she'll be fine. And this morning she was. She still is getting saline and the vaporizer for another day or two, because I'm just over-protective like that. Actually, I'm just a bundle of nerves terrified of losing her, too.

Found this quote a few minutes ago, and it has brought me some momentary comfort: Only when it's dark enough, can you see the stars. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I miss you dad. Terribly.