It's funny. When I decided to go back to blog with the intention of writing regularly again, I did it because I thought it would be helpful with my healing process to get things out and then maybe try to really deal with them in order to move past them. Grow through what you go through, as it were. But I also did it because I knew my dad would enjoy reading my writing and he was alone without my mom and maybe it would make him smile. My first post was my last post because it was March and by April, we'd discovered my dad had terminal cancer and by May he was gone. I didn't have time to write. I didn't feel like writing. And honestly, one of the two people I was writing for was no longer there so why bother? The reason I decided to sit down right now and write is because I had an emotional epiphany earlier and I wanted to get out my thoughts while they're still fresh.
I will need to get a new phone sometime in the near future and in preparation, I spent time today going through my photos in order to delete ones I don't want saved. And in doing so I came across a screenshot of my dad's birthday message to me last year. My birthday is coming up in a few days and I've been dreading it because it's going to be the first one where I won't have a parent to wish me a happy birthday. And that has really been weighing on me. I have definitely been more down and depressed this past Christmas because it was the first without any parent. And even though I hadn't spent Christmas with my parents since 2018, I still at least had my parent(s) to text and video call and make a calendar for. So even though I didn't think I would be, I have been terribly sad this Christmas.
When I saw the text from my dad, it just hit me hard and I broke down. And as I explained to Robert why I was crying, I said to him that I feel very lonely. And I have felt very lonely since my dad died. Logically, it doesn't make sense because I have Robert and Mallory and the McCauleys and my friends so I am not alone. A minuscule part of it is once the first couple weeks go by, no one really checks in with you anymore. A college friend of mine checked in with me about two months after my mom died and it meant so much to me. He'd lost his father as a teenager and understood that sometimes, it feels good to know someone is still thinking of you after the initial hubbub dies down. And I had a moment earlier this month where I said to Robert, y'know, honestly, I am a little saddened that no one has asked how I'm doing with the holidays and everything. None of my girlfriends or my sisters or anyone. He said to me that he thinks people don't want to "remind" me of something so sad so they don't bring it up. It's not that they don't care, it's just an awkward situation and unless you've dealt with something like this before, you don't really know what to do. And I think he's right. I am definitely not the first person in line knowing what to do in an emotional situation! So I think I let that go just by talking to Robert. (Poor man -- he has just been rock solid in supporting me and listening to me when the big waves hit and I feel lost. It's just been going on almost a year now and I'm still so sad sometimes, I worry he's going to be overwhelmed.)
The largest part is, and I just realized this as I was talking to Robert, I feel like I've lost the two people who I know with absolute certainty loved me with all their hearts and completely unconditionally. This is going to be a giant newsflash but I have issues with trust and vulnerability. So EVEN THOUGH I've been with Robert since I was 17 and I have a wonderful daughter, I cannot truly and genuinely let my guard down because their love could be conditional. It could change. And that means that with the exception of Garfunkel, I do not feel like I have anyone in my life that loves me completely and fully and won't change their mind. It's not logical and that doesn't matter one bit. It's how I feel and I am hopeful that now I have identified this deep within myself, I will be able to continue working on healing more effectively.
