Friday the 13th
Today is not a good day for me. Not that I have any special fear of Friday the 13th - this Friday just happens to fall on the 13th of January. This day is as unlucky or as lucky as any other; next month, Friday the 13th will fall on a Monday. Just another day as far as that goes.
No, it's a pretty down day for me because for some reason I am thinking a lot of my parents; this happens to me sometimes. Both of them are gone now, so my brothers and sister and I are technically orphans, I guess, and that's not an upbeat classification. My mother died slowly about 9 years ago and my father died quickly on Thanksgiving about 4 years ago. You would think I'd be used to them being dead now, but at odd moments I get a long look at the holes in me where they used to be. I don't always get teary at such times, but I always want to. Recently (ironically, on Father's Day), my spouse's father also died rather suddenly, and now I have to be strong for her while she works through the tears that being parentless brings. Sometimes - like today - that's a daunting task since I can't bring myself to honestly say, "It will be OK. It will pass."
I get an extra little dose of depression on days like this when I think about my own kids. Because I'm 57 and they're only 4 and 10, they are quite possibly going to have to deal with a loss like this at an earlier age than I have. It saddens me that I will cause my children to be sad. Or maybe not; I'm convinced that my daughter talks to my mother, the grandmother who slipped into the rainbow on the wall of her hospice room 5 years before my daughter was born. I know I still do sometimes. And my daughter continues to sing her made-up songs and is a happy person either in spite of or because of her contact with my mother, so quite possibly she'll be able to sing to me after I'm gone. I hope so ... although I don't plan on checking out any time soon.
No, it's a pretty down day for me because for some reason I am thinking a lot of my parents; this happens to me sometimes. Both of them are gone now, so my brothers and sister and I are technically orphans, I guess, and that's not an upbeat classification. My mother died slowly about 9 years ago and my father died quickly on Thanksgiving about 4 years ago. You would think I'd be used to them being dead now, but at odd moments I get a long look at the holes in me where they used to be. I don't always get teary at such times, but I always want to. Recently (ironically, on Father's Day), my spouse's father also died rather suddenly, and now I have to be strong for her while she works through the tears that being parentless brings. Sometimes - like today - that's a daunting task since I can't bring myself to honestly say, "It will be OK. It will pass."
I get an extra little dose of depression on days like this when I think about my own kids. Because I'm 57 and they're only 4 and 10, they are quite possibly going to have to deal with a loss like this at an earlier age than I have. It saddens me that I will cause my children to be sad. Or maybe not; I'm convinced that my daughter talks to my mother, the grandmother who slipped into the rainbow on the wall of her hospice room 5 years before my daughter was born. I know I still do sometimes. And my daughter continues to sing her made-up songs and is a happy person either in spite of or because of her contact with my mother, so quite possibly she'll be able to sing to me after I'm gone. I hope so ... although I don't plan on checking out any time soon.
On 1/14/2006 5:46 PM,
DeniseUMLaw said…
::HUG:: I remember when your parents passed. I know that it is hard and I know that the holes can never be filled.
I also completely understand your thougths vis-a-vis your own kids and your eventual death. It bothers me, as well. When my own dad died, I tried very, very hard to make it seem to them that it was just a routine event that happens to people, all people. When their other grandfather died this year (a man they truly adored) it was hard, of course, but they got through it much more easily than I did.
I guess the only thing I can say is that to feel as deeply as you do speaks to the wonderful human being that I know you to be. I do love you.
On 1/16/2006 10:50 AM,
Jami said…
Thank you so much for your thoughts. I have a tendency to picture the holes of loss in myself much like the scars on tree trunks where limbs have been lost.
And even though it's Monday, and I truly detest Mondays, and I'm working today when half the country isn't, I'm feeling a lot more upbeat today. Maybe the fact that I actually got something approximating an adequate amount of sleep over the weekend has something to do with that.
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