Celebration

Tonight my family held Dad's Celebration of Life.  Today is my Dad's birthday.  He would be 71 years old.  Instead, he is whatever damn age he wants to be. :-)  I like to imagine him in a world eating his German chocolate cake (which we had tonight, c/o Cafe Latte from St. Paul) talking about world history and politics with the occasional Klingon word thrown in and a bunch of huskies merrily howling and wagging their tails around him.  That thought makes me happy.  And that he smiles upon me wherever I am.

I was impressed with how many people attended.  Most of them know my mom.  A few recognised me from way back when I was little.  It was touching to see that many people show up.  We set up the room with tables along one wall where we placed memorabilia along it showing Dad's early life, his interests, traveling, sport and his family and his awards/accomplishments.  Upon entry into the room we had a table for people to place cards and we laid out pages for a memory book for people to write down memories of Dad and post any photos if they had some.  Along the opposite wall we had a bartender for beverages and food (sliders, spinach and avocado dip, veggies and dip, pizza Margarita, etc.).  At the front of the room, Mom and my sister created a slide show that looped with photos of Dad.

I have had mixed feelings about this entire process.  I really do not cry so much.  I think about him daily.  But now it is more with fond memories than with sadness.  Granted, if I were to talk much about him in depth or on an emotional topic, I may cry.  Or when people offer their condolences.  I appreciate their care to express it.  But that is what usually gets me.  I tend to nod and walk away or brush it off and change the subject.  That is how I cope.

This January has been such a trying month for me.  I have not told many people about my issues this month as I do not like to share when I am having problems.  I tend to suffer in silence and not as for help.

My MN rental was a Minivan.  And yes, I drag raced it!

I am homeless.  Did you know that?  I was not able to find a roommate to move in with me and the time came to move out when the lease ended.  Everything I own is boxed up and in a friend's garage.  Some other stuff is at another friend's house to hold on to while I was out of state traveling.  I understand people not wanting to commit to being a roommate for me.  Up until the middle of this week, I was in a limbo for residency.  I flew out to Washington to interview for a job.  I made it to the final round.  Just one other candidate and myself.  It was in an area that I have always wanted to live and I was thrilled to make it out to the final interview process.  Monday was the physical test, finger printing, online test and Command staff meeting.  Tues was the ride along and polygraph.  And I do not care who you are, even after three polygraphs in my lifetime, they are hella stressful.  And the guy who did the test was very good at his job.

I stayed with my Wolfpack friends, whom I care for greatly.  It is always an honor to stay with them.  Not to mention, they introduced me to the wonders of "Settlers of Catan."  I cannot believe I have lived 33 years on this planet and never played it.  We quickly remedied that problem.  I also looked at a location I wished to live at if I did get the job.  Point no Point Lighthouse, Hansville, Kitsap County, WA.  This place is like a dream come true to live at for me.  Unfortunately, I did not get the job.  But at least now I have the experience of it and can hopefully be more prepared and ready if I apply elsewhere.  I am thankful for the opportunity granted to me to be a part of the application and interview process.

So now that I know I am not moving in the next few months, I can find a place to live.  That is one less stressor in my life.  The unknown for a place to live is extremely stressful.  Especially when you admit it to your big boss man when they ask why you keep changing your address to you place of work.  *sigh*  My Jeep is also broken.  Again.  So, on top of my Dad dying and being homeless, I am also vehicleless.  I guess when it rains, it pours.  If I was not so upside down in my loan for my Jeep, I would sell it.  I just want a reliable vehicle.  And an automatic.  Oh well.  Buying it is a decision I have to live with.

When I think of my friend, picking me up at the airport when I came back from seeing Dad die and he turning to me and saying she spoke with her family and they wanted me to live with them till I got my feet back under me, I cry.  I am so very thankful for my friend-family.  I cannot even put it into words how touching this is to me.  Or my other friend who let me stay with her all of last week and be with her family.  They provided a bed and food for me.  And are wonderful people for it.

I still write on Dad's Facebook wall.  Is it morbid?  I do not think so.  It helps me feel like I can communicate with him.  He loved social media and Facebook...even if he did not have the best grasp on how to operate it.  I posted this earlier this week on his wall.  It is holds so very true for me:

"Hi Dad. I wanted you to know that you did a great job raising my sister and i into the women we are today.

I thought you would appreciate this billboard. I went and saw Rogue One. I know Star Wars was a passion of yours.

I think about you every day. Sometimes I cry. I love you and know that you are now always with me."

Also, a totally unrelated side note:  Idaho F&G did a press release on the dangers of Japanese Yew to wildlife.  I wanted to save the link somewhere so I could refer to it again sometime, rather than it getting lost in my FB feed.

01/16/17

I consider myself a fairly lucky individual.  Death has not been something close to me till recently.  Granted, I handle, decide and interact with it fairly often at work.  But that is work.  I can compartmentalize that.  It is not personal. 

Yesterday was not a great day.  Today is much better.  Some days are good.  Others are more trying in nature.  The best wording I can use to describe my feelings on those “bad” days is empty.  I do not know how to describe it other than that.  Something is missing.  Empty. 

As of yesterday, I am officially homeless.  This is not the first time I have been in this state regarding my living situation.  I got through it then.  I will get through it now.  A friend graciously let me put all my belongings in her garage.  Another let me bring over my food.  And another is letting me stay with her.  I see no point in looking for permanent living for a little while.  The end of this week I am house/dog sitting.  Next week I go to Washington for my final job interview process.  And then from there I fly back to MN for Dad’s Celebration of Life Memorial and to help Mom clean up the house more.  I will worry about housing after that.

It was hard to find roommates when you do not know if you will be staying in the area to live or if you are moving to a different state.  I cannot blame those people for not wanting to risk being SOL if they let me room with them.  I’ll figure it out.  I always have.  My Jeep is currently full of my bedding and clothes that I will survive on for the next few weeks.  My itty bitty 2-door Jeep. Ha!  I find this fairly amusing.

I am so very thankful for my support group of friends out here.  So many have offered to help when I reached my impending homeless predicament.  It is too cold to live in my trailer.  Not to mention it is snowed/iced in to the storage area it is kept in.  I simply need to work harder at trying to sell it.

Jeep is all fixed up with 4 new shoes.  Hopefully it seems that the “death wobble” issue it had has been fixed.  Per my amazing Jeep mechanic friend, there was some play in the holes where the track bar bolts sat.  So he cut some bolts/washers and welded those bitches in there.  Also tightened up my steering.  I then re-balanced my new tires.   Last month it got new brake pads and rotors, new springs all around (so now it sits even higher…and the ride is so much smoother) to remove the old JKUR ones and pucks I had in there.  Also replaced my spark plugs and bled my brake lines.  In addition to fixing the damage done from the accident back at the beginning of December (new wheel, tire and rear track bar).

I have found that I cannot look at pics of my Dad.  I cannot read his Obituary (http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/sctimes/obituary.aspx?n=richard-barkalow&pid=183478066&fhid=9547).  I cannot read the comments people post.  It hurts too much right now.  I try to keep myself busy and not think about it.  I do not let myself cry too much, long or hard.  But there are times tears escape.  And I let them fall.  There are times when I can talk about Dad.  But eventually it gets too hard and I stop.

01/17/17

I find being at work helps.  It keeps me busy.  It keeps my mind on things other than Dad.  So when I have a less busy day at work, I try to find things to keep my mind from wandering too much.

I slept on a bed for the first time in more than a week and a half on Sunday night.  It was glorious.  I slept so well.  I am thankful for my friend letting me stay with her this week.  This winter has been a very trying one.  We have had so much snow and the temps so cold that it is too cold to go do adventures and/or too much snow that I cannot get anywhere.  I rarely go to Boise any more due to the weather.

Useful links about our current snow levels:

https://www.nrcs.usda.gov/wps/portal/nrcs/main/id/snow/

https://wcc.sc.egov.usda.gov/reports/UpdateReport.html?report=Idaho

My mind is too muddled to be of much use adding anything else on here.  I know there were things I wanted to put, but now I have forgotten them.  And that is OK.

Vigil

Vigil [vig-uh l] n.:(2) a watch or period of watchful attention maintained at night or at other times.

This week I learned what this term truly meant.  I thought of this term and its meaning.  And dawning of understanding occurred.  I now feel it is a word that is mis-used or over used and not fully understood.  It is a word like "love", "hate", "despise" and "enormity".

Of my family, I believe that I am the one that expresses emotions the most.  Which, for those of you that know me, would probably find this scoff-able since we all know how much I emote.  One way for me to think through things is to write them down.  I go through things I want to post in my blog in my head.  Re-wording and re-phrasing.  Editing.  Re-arranging.  Removing.  I do it during hard times in my life.  Or times I find myself challenged in some way.  I truly believe that thinking through those events and dissecting them helps me better understand them and, for lack of a better phrase, "come to terms" with those events.

Another way that I deal with stress and challenging events is to set goals.  Try to face those challenges head on.  Overcome them.  Understand.  And if the event was a harmful one and poses a risk to harm others, then I take on that challenge to help make sure others are not harmed in the future.  I protect.  This is what I do.  Not because I want to.  But because it is the right thing to do.  It is the honest thing.  Oftentimes, it is the harder thing to do.  To speak the truth and deal with the consequences, whatever they may be.  The truth can be a naked harsh thing.  Blinding for some.  Offensive and hurtful to others.  But something that must be faced head on.  Something to embrace and not fear.

This week I faced a great fear of mine.  Possibly one of the greatest.  This week I met Death.  I smelled her fragrance.  Our fingertips brushed one another.  I saw her work her work.  And carry another human life away.  I saw the life fade from eyes.  I heard the final gasps.  I saw the slackening of a face and muscles no longer respond.  And a part of my heart die away a little inside.  Death took a part of me with her when she went away.  As she always does.  When the dying leave, they take pieces of the living with them.

I closed those unseeing eyes.  I wanted to give them the peace they so long yearned for and finally received.  I watched that unmoving hand resting upon the furred body of the toy husky.  Waiting for something to move.  Anything.  Knowing nothing would.  And never would again.  And so I sat.  And I began my vigil.

The sun was shining that day.  Unlike the previous one.  It was a stark frigid winter day.  Dangerously beautiful and clear outside.  I was not cold inside that room.  Nor hot.  I was, at the time, merely nothing.  Just was.  Am.  Being.  I was feeling and not feeling.  Processing and shutting down.  I wanted to lay watch upon the un-moving form before me.  I wanted to honor it.  Honor the person that it used to be with my silence and watchfulness.  It was just me in the room at that time.  Others tasking themselves with busyness to keep the emotions at bay.  But no, not me.  I stayed.  I paid my vigil upon that form.

Looking around the room.  Seeing the book on the table near the bed that my mom had been reading while she conducted her daily vigil.  The plate of cookies and pot of coffee the staff had brought in for us while we waited for this time to come.  The Star Wars Rogue One coloring book and markers next to me on the couch that I busied myself with earlier.  The dry erase board in every hospital room listing RNs, RTs, patient names and so on.  The sunlight glinting off the metal fixtures and equipment in the room.  I stopped paying attention to the time hours earlier.  I did not even mark it when Death embraced her newest member.

I recall that day.  I recall it well.  01/03/2017.  It was the conclusion to months (if not years) of anticipation and preparation.  Preparation.  A word that is truly mis-used when Death comes to visit.  No action I can think of can truly prepare you for Death and her actions.  Those little pieces of you that you tried so hard to seal together are still torn away.  Those voids are still left behind when Death embraces and leaves with her members.  But it is important not to wallow in those voids.  Not to stare down into their depths.  Those voids are there.  They are inevitable.  But the hard part is filling those voids so they are less deep.  Less dark and more easily traversable once again.

My voids are stark.  They are there.  I know they are there.  I simply refuse to look at them or acknowledge them fully.  I am not yet ready to peer into their depths and see how deep they go in order to start filling them.  Every now and then I find myself tripping over one or almost falling into one.  And I catch myself.  A tear or few may escape.  A nostril or two snotted up.  But rarely a gasp or shudder.  Someday I will get there.  But not today and not soon.

Instead, I set myself upon those challenges and goals.  I have a mission.  I have been inspired, by unfortunate circumstances, to make the world a better place.  To protect others, especially those that are incapable of protecting themselves.  I want to right the wrongs that were done to my loved ones.  I cannot undo the past.  I cannot take away pain that has already been felt.  But I can certainly try to lessen it for the living and even possibly prevent it for the future.  I have a mission.  I will prevail.  Death has already come and done her duty.  She was merciful at the very end.  Even though I may disagree with parts, I know, in the end, she is the finder of peace for my loved one.

I know, somewhere out there, is a happy man.  A man surrounded by happy huskies with wagging tails and yodeling their displeasure at not being fed their presumed pieces of pizza crust from the man.  A world full of Sports Center and sporting games.  A world of German chocolate cake and double chocolate cookies.  A world of sci-fi heroes and villains.  A world full of books and learning and traveling.  It is a happy world.  And I am happy it is somewhere out there with that man and his beloved huskies.

That night.  After all was said and done.  And nothing more could be said or done.  I drank.  Not to obliteration.  That would not have paid the right homage to my loved one.  I drank to ease the swell and tide of emotions churning within me.  I drank to ease the images that fail to leave me.  I drank mostly for me.  I drank to cover those voids so that I could swim over them and not fall.  In a room full of people and family, it was also a room full of loneliness and blankness.  I was me.  I lived.  I do not regret my choices or those my family together made.  They were the right and compassionate and humane choices.  But, like truth, the right choices are sometimes the hardest ones to make.  I can live with my choices and words.  I am proud of them.  But I will still have missing pieces and voids.  But I will also prevail.  I will fall.  And pick myself up.  And never forget.  But simply remember.  And smile thinking of that world of huskies and pizza and a smiling man within it.

I love you, Dad.