Dear Dad, I’m 44

Hey, Dad. I wish you were here.

But I’m hoping you’re up there, is that even right? “Up there?” Maybe you’re beside me? Maybe that’s why sometimes I don’t feel as alone, as if I could reach out and hug you, and maybe that’s why other times I have an overwhelming feeling of just wanting to go home? Happiness with you was my home. Anywhere, up there, beside me, whatever, I hope Heaven is a groovy place. I hope you’re watching the Cowboys and the Rangers, maybe playing Spades or a game of catch. The latter is difficult to think about because of the way and circumstances in which you died. Died. Passed on. I think I like “passed on.” Passed on to something better. It still rips my heart apart knowing you were playing baseball and enjoying life, no idea you were about to take your last breath. It seems unfair, in a way, the lack of a warning. No family with you. Just playing a game of baseball, falling… and gone. Just gone. People can say “passed on,” but you’re gone. That’s what I know for certain. Everything changed on September 8, 1992.

Sometimes, I become quite angry we didn’t get to say goodbye to you, but would I really prefer you to have had a longer type of illness, and wither away, seeing you in pain? No. It’s best to know you left doing something you loved. You were only 44 years old.

I’m 44 years old today, Dad.

And I’m scared. Honestly, I didn’t even expect to make it to 44. Now, here I am, and I have this dread. I’m scared of 44 because of your early death and that of your own Dad’s. Maybe you tried to be a great Dad to us because you lost your Dad far too early as well? I wish our youngest sister remembered you better. She was only 4 years old, though. I’m glad our other sister, closer to my age, has day to day memories of you as well.

I’m scared of being 44. I’m scared I’ll leave my son far too early. And who would take care of my Mom? I’m afraid of the pain, I’ll be honest. Mostly, I’m afraid of the unknown. Whatever fills that vast unknown, I know that someday, many days and years from now, after I see my son marry and have his own children, I know you’ll be there waiting for me, welcoming. And if it should be sooner that I show up, please be there to hold me and tell me everyone I leave behind will be okay.

I can’t wait to hug you again.

I miss you. Send me a sign if you’re able. Love you.

Cathartic, I Guess

October 25, 2018 Blog Entry ~

Just bawled for 20 mins.

20181025_001253.jpg

Sobbed for family lost. Wept due to worries about friends. Cried because of unrelenting physical pain. Then, just let loose because of everything already mentioned and so much more. I wailed. You know what? I actually feel better. Going to listen to my @Halsey mix playlist and sleep…I hope.

20181025_002119.jpg

Here’s to all of us who keep putting one foot in front of the other and try to do some good along the way. Share love.

#cryingisnotweak #cryingiscleansing #cathartic #endurance #strength #love #forgiveness #blessed #bipolaruninvitedblog @ Kerrville, Texas

Treating Others Feels Grand

Treating Others *Feels* Grand ~ 8.5.18

I woke in severe pain today. A little more than usual. One thing I can say that is good for both my physical and emotional pain is helping others, loving on others. Today, despite my pain, I took my mom and son to see a movie. Their smiles, jokes and laughs were quite worth the added discomfort.

Thank you, Lord, for our special time today.

You Are Not Alone

YOU ARE NOT ALONE ~ 7.14.18

One thing about mental illnesses vs physical (& visible) illnesses is the response and support I receive from friends, fellow church members and even family members.

Broke my foot, my support system and community rallied to provide meals for at least two weeks, which was much appreciated.

Down and depressed though, rarely have I received offers of the same kind of help.

I have been thinking, why is that? I’ve come up with two reasons, as far as my own experience goes.

1. People are uncomfortable around someone struggling with depression and/or anxiety. It’s just the truth.

2. I have not done a good job reaching out and asking for help. So why on earth would friends and family feel anything else besides uncomfortable?

Having pondered that, I’ve decided in the future I will try my very best to ask for help, and during my okay times, I’ll continue to try to share things about Bipolar with others.

I would like for there to be encouragement and support for those with illness, as well as their family and friends, on this site.

20180714_212729_0001

I want people to know they are not alone.

Take His Hand

I think the hardest part of being a mom to a son, both of us with Bipolar Disorder, is the utter inability to take away his pain. All that pain I know has existed, currently resides and will strike in the future.

s-fba838b5a9829b36312781f71716a6f32dcc2ba5

So, I resign myself to knowing that holding his hand as he makes his way through is the best I can do. I hope he feels that love in my touch, and I thank the Lord that He is carrying my son through all he has faced and ever will encounter.

Delete

So, I just watched a movie called “Rememory.” After finishing this grand-scoped, thought-provoking movie, I was left pondering this question while dabbing at tears.

If you could erase heartbreaking, devastating, tragic memories, would you do it?

eb1b5931e7937d79c068cf335be337de

Why?

How would that change you as a person? How would that affect who you are now?

And a somewhat different question – are some memories, some events, best left forgotten. Best buried as a way for your mind to protect you?

Okay, so I lied. I posed more than one question. Four or five, I guess.

Another movie years back had me kicking ideas around like this. I’m quite certain it was the film’s intention, of course, and well done. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” Did you see it?

I think I need all of my memories, despite knowing I have been robbed of some. Possibly I should edit the word “despite” and instead use “especially.”

I need my memories because even the bad have a reason of existing. Bad forces me to appreciate good. Loss helps me recognize what beauty I do have.

So yeah, even if I could push the button that wipes away all bad, I would not press it. Though, I will readily, and with speed, advise you to hide that button from me because tomorrow, I could most vehemently  disagree with what I think now, and smack that sucker in efforts to rid myself of the burdens and pains of the day.

stock-vector-red-rounded-delete-button-on-white-background-417584698