It’s been 6 weeks…

It’s been a tough 6 weeks.  It’s hard to believe it’s even been 6 weeks, it feels more like 6 months have passed.  I hardly remember April, Easter with Sam’s family, or the big events I helped plan at work in March.  I barely remember the summer days when the sun was up before I was.

I feel like I’m a lagging computer whose hard drives are filled to the max. I wish an extra stick of ram, or transferring some files off onto an external hard drive could do the trick. Since I’m human instead of machine thus requiring extra processing time, it’s taking me longer than usual to respond to things. I simply am not working at maximum efficiency. Perhaps a  re-boot would help.

Most days people ask me how I am.  I respond with a chirpy “I’m good!”  Because in reality, I’m doing alot better than a few others in my life, and I can’t help but compare.  But people are misinterpreting my “I’m good.”  I suppose I am too.  Yes, compared to my Mother, and quite possibly even my siblings, I am actually doing good.  But I suppose compared to some whose life is filled with joy and bliss, my life is a bit blah, for lack of a better word.

On May 6th, the day of the supermoon, I walked along the beach near Mermaid Waters QLD.  Life felt so peaceful, yet I knew it was about to change.  That was the day my dad died suddenly in Canada.  The news came with the rising moon into the clear night sky.  A whirlwind of flights and emotions later, I found myself back in Canada comforting my mother and helping my family to plan my dad’s funeral.

6 weeks later I am back to routine life in Australia, except it’s not the same.    I’m trying my hardest not to get overwhelmed.  Work is somewhat busy, I’m trying to plan a wedding, I’m spending my Saturday’s at house inspections as we are looking for a house to buy, my family is grieving, especially my mother, people around me are being diagnosed with cancer, going through some major relationship stuff, or are just plain caught up in their own lives.  They can’t wait to catch up to tell me all about it.  When I gather the energy to meet up or chat with them, I sit there and I listen, and I offer all I can, but deep down inside, I’m struggling.

Everything feels too much, and yet I’m trying to tackle it all head first with all my energy.  A part of me feels it would be good for me to get out and do things like before, continue my life, yet another part of me wants to stay at home and not leave for a week, distracting myself with writing prompts and the dream world of fiction.  These two parts often clash and end up in a stalemate and not much gets done.

I tell myself, I’m a strong girl, I know alot about emotion, grief, and letting go.  I’m good at processing my emotions, and allowing myself to feel.  And yet at the same time, I am STILL processing my emotions and will be for some time.  That didn’t magically disappear when I arrived back in Australia.  I still have my moments of sadness, grief, and heart ache.  I remind myself I did just lose my father.  Death is the ultimate separation and I am feeling this one.    I’m finding it hard when those moments arise to take time for myself, because a few others around me have it so much harder, so much worse, and I need to be strong for them, help them through their pain as it’s so much greater than mine.   But the only way I’m going to work through mine is by taking time out for me, and find a balance between them and me.

It’s like what they say on the airplane.  “In case of an emergency, airbags will drop from the ceiling above.  Please ensure you put on your own airbag before assisting others.”  We can’t always be of assistance to others until we help ourselves first.

So tonight instead of helping others, I’m taking some time to help myself.  I’m writing how I feel instead of pushing it aside while I try to help others with their feelings.  I’m spending time looking at photos, feeling sad and honouring it.  I’m taking time for me.

Below is a photo of my dad.  It’s the last photo I ever took of him.  I had flown back to Canada for Christmas 5 years ago.  It had snowed and my dad said “Come on Yolanda, let’s go out and make a snowman!”  Feeling jet legged and unused to the cold I resisted, so he went out and built one for me.

The snowman

The snowman


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