Happy 65 Dad!

Today would have been my dad's 65th birthday. It's the 2nd time his birthday has come and gone without him here. I thought this year it would be a little easier for me, but it wasn't. It was difficult from the time I first woke up at 4am and realized what day it was. I missed being able to call him and sing happy birthday to him. I miss his voice. I miss everything about him. We don't have a grave or anything to go to yet (mom is working on something) so my answer was to go to the park where I have fond memories of his birthday. We got some pretty helium balloons and tied notes that we wrote to the end. At sunset, we let them go and watched them disappear into the clouds.

5th Relay For Life

I've been wanting to share my Relay For Life experience for the past 2 weeks, but every time I sat down to write something about it I felt really emotional. With the kids home for the summer, I'm usually quite rushed anytime I am using my computer and I wanted to give this the time it deserves. 

This year's Relay was very emotional for me which surprised me. The first year was emotional and I expected that.  I wasn't even in remission yet and I remember feeling doubtful that I even belonged among the other survivors.  When I put my hand print on the banner with other survivors, I didn't really even have a time to write down as a survivor in remission, so I just counted back to my diagnosis. I remember feeling unsure of my place among the courageous survivors that I sat amongst on the field for the opening ceremony. Many of them had been through a much harder journey than I had.  They'd faced chemo.  Some of them had needed stem cell transplants and other procedures far more serious than what I went through.




But when I joined them for the survivor lap, I felt something that I didn't expect.  I felt empowered.  Walking seems like such a small thing, but it was and is one thing I could control.  I was able to band together with other survivors and show cancer that it can't knock me off my feet. The biggest thing that cancer took me from is my health and being able to walk a lap felt a little like thumbing my nose at cancer. Although I am in remission, I am not as healthy as I was pre-cancer. Losing my thyroid has turned a lifelong struggle with my weight into what sometime seems an impossible battle. The pounds that 2 years of hypothyroidism packed on have been such a difficult battle for me to take off.  Nevertheless, slowly I am winning that battle.

The fact that I am down almost 65 pounds since my last Relay made this year's walk more poignant for me.  It was a bigger "screw you" to cancer. Not only am I still standing and still alive but I'm taking off the weight that cancer helped me put on. It was much easier for me to walk that survivor lap and 2 laps that followed without even getting tired.  Progress! Physically this Relay was the easiest one for me.




It was very emotionally challenging for me though. It was the first time I cried during the survivor lap.  Seeing other people's tears always brings me to tears of my own. Seeing the luminaria that Abby and I decorated for my Dad choked me up.  I wish that my Dad was a survivor too.  I wish he could walk that lap with me. I hate that I'm here and he's not. This year was less about my battle and more about carrying on the battle in his memory. It's safe to say that my Dad wouldn't really have done Relay with me.  That wasn't his sort of thing. He never came when I was walking just for myself.  But last year and this year he was there....I carried him in my heart.






I am about to reach 5 years of being in remission on Wednesday July 13th. 5 years for a cancer patient is a huge milestone because the risk of recurrence becomes so much lower.  I realize that with thyroid cancer, recurrence at any time of my life is possible.  I know that the radiation therapy I had increases my risk of other cancers. But those risks are moving farther and farther to the back of my mind.

So as I reflect on the 5th year of my remission from Stage III papillary/follicular thyroid cancer, I am feeling thankful, blessed and hopeful.  I am thankful for my husband and children who have sustained me through this fight with love, patience and understanding.  They laughed along with me when I was so hypothyroid that all I could do was stare at my hand all day.  The sympathized with me through many a Low Iodine Diet. I am thankful for my friends and family who have been there to support me.  Those who have joined my Relay team and cheered me on each year as I do that survivor lap. Those who have been understanding when hypothyroidism drained me of energy to hang out or when I was filled with anxiety as I went through my testing. I feel blessed that I continue to win my fight against cancer.  I feel blessed that I have a wonderful competent doctor who cares for me and keeps me healthy.  I am blessed to have a good hospital with caring medical staff to give me a smile or a chuckle during testing or to add yet another bill to my monthly payment plan. I am hopeful that someday I will no longer worry about my cancer.  I feel hopeful that someday I will no longer touch the jagged scar on my neck as I worry about why I'm not feeling alright. I feel hopeful that some day there will be a cure for cancer.

Yesterday

Yesterday was a project day for me. I felt like the best way to handle the day was to do stuff I would have or could have done with my Dad. And I did those things with my daughter (son was at Grandma's house). We put up the outside Christmas lights, took a trip to Lowe's to buy paint, and painted 2 walls of my bedroom. I taught her how to use a screwdriver and how to sand the wall. To be honest, hubby helped too. :-)

We also went out for dinner and I was so pleased with how nicely Abby sat and ate. With all the steroids she takes her for her asthma and her natural high energy level, sitting still is not usually something she can do.

I'll post pictures of our paint job shortly.

Remembering

Tomorrow it will be a year since I said goodbye to my Dad. It's hard to believe that it's been a year. I still miss him terribly every day. I'm not entirely sure how I want to deal with tomorrow. I would much rather remember his life than his death so in a way I'd like the day just to pass as any other Saturday. But then I can't imagine not taking a moment to remember the day for what it is.


I have so many good memories of my Dad. I love looking at photos of him and remembering. Here are some old photos that my hubby scanned in for me yesterday....


My parents and I on my baptism day.




My Mom and I. I love this one because we both look so happy and in this moment it's just about us.




Dad and I at Disney World.




My parents.




Dad and I.

The last milestone

Some of you know that this is a really difficult week for me (and my family).  Last year during this week, my Dad was in a coma.  We were faced with some harsh realities and difficult decisions.   This Saturday will mark one year since he left this world and went on to a place where he will always be young (To me 63 is still young!), he would always be the Dad I knew, and he would no longer feel any pain. These are the last milestones to get through.

The emptiness that he left in our lives is so profoundly felt and the silence that his absence created is painful.  I wondered how we would survive the aftermath. I have survived with the support of wonderful friends, with giving myself over to the therapy process, and leaning on my family. I recently read an article that gave me an "aha moment" as Oprah calls them. The author had lost both of her parents and was in unimaginable pain, but she said on the upside she never had to go through it again.  I can't imagine how it would have been for my Dad to get much older, become unable to move around, become senile, etc.  I do feel relieved that I no longer have to dread that. One of the most painful experiences of my life is already behind me.

But that doesn't help comfort me when one of us has a birthday and he's not there sitting around the table or when I need to call him for advice and I can't. I feel his absence acutely every day. I try to keep him with me.  I imagine what he would say in certain situations.  I talk to him out loud when I'm alone. I look at my scrapbooks to see pictures of him. I know he's with me in a way.

If you were to ask what you could do to help as some friend have, I'll tell you.  It's really quite simple. The best thing you could do is share a memory with me that you have of my Dad. I'm not afraid to talk about him. Talking about him keeps him alive for me. You can also listen.  Every time I share the painful or sad feelings, a little bit of their power is diminished. Talking lessens the hurt. You can also tell me a joke.  Laughter is the best medicine.

Progress

I started one of the projects I've been dreading but knew needed to be done. I am refinishing the armoire that my Dad built for me when I was 18 (it was my 18th birthday present).  It's all dinged up and it's a medium oak color that doesn't match anything else in my home. It currently holds our tv, DVD player, and all of our bedding.  I had a really rough day and I felt as though I needed to have a victory.  Starting this was a big breakthrough for me because I have not been able to complete any projects involving my Dad since his death because it's too emotional for me.  But tonight sitting in the garage sanding the drawers for the armoire, I know that I was not alone. I sat on my chair with my sandpaper in my hand and asked aloud, "Should I do this? Is it okay with you Dad?" and then it started to rain.  It poured actually.  I felt like it was my answer from him.  While I was sitting there sanding, I felt his presence quite strongly.  I could smell him. I know how this sounds.  I know it sounds nutty, but this is the first time this has happened and it was a very special gift to me.


My not-so-awesome camera phone photos to show you my progress on the drawer face.



Oh and yes, that is my knee. LOL

BEFORE (with varnish removed)....






DURING (after 1st coat of black/brown paint)...

I know it's there, but I haven't found it yet...

"Challenges make life interesting, however, overcoming them is what makes life meaningful." - Mark Twain

I feel challenged right now. I feel challenged by life, cancer, grief, motherhood, marriage, friendship, family...all of it.  I feel like there must be a lesson in the challenges of the past few years, but I can't seem to see it.  I feel like I'm not learning the lesson and that is why the challenges keep coming because they are trying to teach me something. When I feel so overwhelmed as I do know, I like to sit back and try to evaluate what is going on.  What can I learn from this?

My Dad was one of the wisest men I knew.  He was my go-to-guy for advice.  Most of my life I thought it was my Dad's experience that made him wise, until one day (when I was 32 and he was 62) when I told him that I thought he was the smartest person I knew.  He chuckled and said that if he was wise it was because he "knew enough to know that he didn't know everything".  That really struck a chord with me.  I thought huh, maybe wisdom is knowing that you don't know all the lessons rather than how many lessons you know.

Cancer has taught me to look at things differently.  I don't wish away getting older anymore, I embrace it. Cancer has taught me that no matter how much you don't want to do something, sometimes you have to. Cancer has taught me that it can be cruel and take one of the people you love the very most away from you quickly. Cancer has taught me a lot of lessons and I thought I had a good grasp on all of them, but it apparently I'm not done learning.  This scare of the return of my cancer is happening to teach me something.  No matter what the outcome is here, there is a reason why this is happening. 

I wish that I could go to my Dad for advice, but I can't.  But I will remember that advice he gave me. I think I'm finally wise enough to know that I don't know what the lesson is.  I do know that cancer and I are going to not done being dance partners yet. But I feel fairly certain that as we spin around the dance floor, I will be learning some new moves.

Nifty 9

Our celebration of our 9th anniversary was perfect. We started the day off with mimosas after the kids were at school. We had an early lunch at a lovely tea & sandwich spot. We went wine tasting. We relaxed. We sat in the park and talked and enjoyed the warm sunny day. For dinner we got food from Noodles & Co and ate in.

I thought of my Dad. The thoughts of it being exactly 1 year from his terminal diagnosis were fleeting. Instead I thought of the good things. Like when we were first married and he called me on November 8th, so excited to tell us "Happy 1 month anniversary" and I laughed and said "Umm, that was yesterday". I thought of my dance at my wedding with my Dad, how surprised I was that he was such a good dancer. I listened to "our song" which was "I Hope You Dance". I remembered the times that I shared with my Dad the sweet things that my husband did for me. It was nice to see that he was happy that I was taken care of and married to someone so perfect for me. Lots of good memories.

All in all, it was a perfect day!

Some photos from our day....

Busy, but good

What I've been up to lately...


Sanding & painting our bedroom furniture to match our black/brown IKEA desks in the master bedroom. So far I've worked on one nightstand and a shelf. It's been a little slower going than I expected but it's been really relaxing for me and a way for me to still feel close to my Dad.


(Excuse my messy garage)

Timing in the Thyroidland game

Some people say that timing is everything. Life is about "being in the right place at the right time" or the "wrong place at the wrong time". I have learned over the past year how precious time is. How easily it can be taken for granted and how we never know when the time is up, when we've run out of time with someone that we love.

The past 10 months have had a lot to do with timing for me.  It's been a running tab of time.  How long was it since I last hugged my Dad?  How many days were left of school?  How many days until I graduated?  How many days will I have to wait for those results or that appointment? There were times when the days dragged on and times where the days went by too fast.  Times where I felt that that the passing of time was healing.  Times where I have reflected to how different things are this year than they were on that same day last year.  Things are very different this year, but in ways they are also the same. This time last year I was stuck in the waiting place.  I was waiting to find out how bad Dad's cancer was.  It was a difficult couple of weeks that I floated through, hoping for the best but knowing in my heart that the news wasn't going to be what I wanted to hear.

This year I find myself again in the waiting place.  I'm waiting to find out if my cancer has returned and moved into my lymph nodes in my neck. At each step of the diagnostics, I tell myself "this will be good news, and this will be the last step".  But then I move to the next step again.  It almost feels like playing a game of Candyland with my daughter.  Sort of like a Thyroidland board game. Just when I think that I have finally won the game, I get one of those silly face cards and I have to move backwards again. Or I wind up on the wrong square and I have to wait until someone draws a certain card before I can move again. Unlike in Candyland I could wind up at the castle or somewhere worse if I wind up having to take the fork in the road.

Time moves slowly in Thyroidland. There are diets to be followed, shots to suffer through, scans to hold still for and most importantly...news to wait to hear. Although I've been through steps 1 and 2 of the game, I still have many more to take before the castle at the end is in sight. Because you see, it's all about timing.  You can't have the scan without starving any possible thyroid cancer cells of iodine.  And then there's the shots which have to be given 2 days in a row.  And then there's bloodwork that needs to be drawn on certain days.  The radioactive pill to swallow.  And of course, the big enchilada...the scan. All timed out just so. Each a carefully planned square on the Thyroidland game board.  If you are lucky, you get to the end where a tasty iodine rich meal awaits you along with a phone call from your endocrinologist or oncologist telling you that it's all clear and you can get out of the waiting place and advance to the castle. 

The timing of this year's round of the Thyroidland game troubles me.  As I mentioned earlier, there is that saying that "timing is everything" which makes me think that the timing can be an omen.  A good omen quite often, but sometimes a bad omen.  You see this isn't the first October that I have spent playing this game. I very vividly recall my very first round in October 2005, the year that my cancer was diagnosed.  That year my steps in the game started in September and ended in January of 2006 with a round of radioactive iodine therapy or RAI.  This year feels so similar to that one.  At every turn, I told myself "this time it's going to be okay & this is the last step".  Yet I would get that call telling me to draw another card, advance one square...move on to the next step. Rather than a glowing sparkly castle at the end of that game what awaited me at the end was a different sort of glow....the kind that you can only get after swallowing a capsule containing a hefty dose of RAI. There the castle was an isolated room at the hospital where everything is covered in protective plastic to protect it from the patient. Nurses rush in and out because you, the patient are dangerous to them.  The big excitement is when the radiation techs come in and measure you with their equipment to see if you are still dangerous to the public. You sleep, not because you are waiting for the prince to come and give you a sweet wake up kiss.  But because you are so hypothyroid that you can't stay awake. It's a place where you miss your kids, your husband, and your dog. Oh how much better that gumdrop covered palace looked!

I really hope that this year I wind up with the castle rather than the hospital room.  I wish that I could say that there was a winning strategy to the Thyroidland game, but I don't know which cards I will draw.  I try not to believe that timing is everything and I stay hopeful. But really I don't know this turn will play out. I don't if the deck was shuffled or if it will be just like 2005.  I can only hope that I get to keep going in the game until I get to the happy ending.

Thoughts on today

“We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.”--Chuck Palahniuk

 

 

 I wish that my Dad had lived forever. But he didn't.  No one can live in their bodies forever.  What's important is that (as my Dad did) you live a beautiful life and that you find a way to live on.  As the Buddha said, "Fashion your life as a garland of beautiful deeds".  My Dad was all about the good deeds.  That's how he showed his love for us.  He might not have often said sentimental things to us, but he showed his love for us in his actions.  

 

I wish that he was here physically to celebrate his birthday with us.  But he is here in spirit with us.  He lives on in my Mom, me, my sister, and his three beautiful grandchildren.  He lives in on the hearts of all of us who loved him.

Today to remember what would have been my Dad's 64th birthday, we released some balloons. I hope they found you in heaven Daddy. And I hope that you know how much we all love and miss you.

Happy Birthday Dad

Tomorrow would have been my Dad's 64th birthday. 


This is from his birthday last year.




I can't put into words how much I miss him. It feels like a piece of me is missing.

Sometimes it's more like a loop than a line

Progress is not always a straight line forward, especially when it comes to dealing with my grief. Today is 8 months since my Dad passed away. I imagine there are people who think I should be "over it" by now. It might not make sense to others how I've been seemingly fine for most of the summer, but yesterday I spent the day feeling depressed and often tearing up.

Yesterday was the last day for my grief group. The topic we discussed was the acceptance stage of grieving. I think to some people acceptance means that it's okay with you. But actually it just means to accept that your loss is real and has altered your life. Without my Dad, my life is changed. I accept that. I also accept that he's really gone. Most of the time anyway.

7 months of therapy has provided me with some tools for coping. It's helped me to see that there is a process for grieving and what I am feeling is normal. I think I've been dealing with losing my Dad in a healthy way.

But all that doesn't stop me from feeling blindsided by the pain at times. I expect to hurt on days where I especially miss his presence. But it comes from unexpected places at times. A few days ago, my husband bought clementines. It's just a fruit. It shouldn't mean anything to me. But it does because my Dad loved them. Those little orange fruits sitting in our fruit bowl hurt me every time I walk past them. It's silly and it's something that's unique to me. I doubt that it even occurs to anyone else in my household that this might bother me.

It's the little things that hurt and the bigger things too. Abby's birthday was this past weekend. Normally we would have celebrated her birthday and my Dad's together. I felt his absence this weekend more than I have at any other birthday gathering we've had in 2010.

As I look around my house cataloging my "to-do list", I think of the things I would have asked his advice about or those that he would have helped me with. I realize how much I relied on him for those things. I might not have enjoyed his advice before as he quite often blurred the line between helpful and bossy. But what I wouldn't give him to hear it now. I can hear him in my head as I look up at our living room ceiling "Did ya paint that ceiling yet?". As I walk down the stairs to the garage and notice some drywall damage I hear him say "That'll probably need two coats of spackle and make sure you sand it good". When I know I have a bunch of phone calls to make, I hear him say "Call 'em at 10. They're awake, but they're not thinking about lunch yet".

I have a bank of Dad's advice in my head to draw from when the expected happens, but what about the unexpected? What about when I feel lost? My Dad's role in my life was to fix things. He fixed my problems whether they were damaged drywall, stupid decisions I made, or times when I lost my way. I always knew I could call him up or just stand by him when he worked on a project and get his advice.

Right now I feel lost and I can't ask Dad what to do. I can't get the kind of advice he gave me from anyone else. And that compounds feeling lost with the feeling of loss. The first of everything without Dad has been hard this year, but time coming up is especially painful for me. A week from today is Dad's birthday. I can't believe that he won't be here to celebrate it with us. The time is coming up when only a year ago he was visibly sick. He was losing his voice. He looked different. He acted different. He started to not be the Daddy I always knew. That time was horribly painful for me. Probably too painful to think about a whole lot until now.

So while from the outside it might not make sense why after a couple months of doing seemingly well, I'm suddenly not doing well anymore....this is the reason why. I feel like hiding. I feel like ignoring my phone when it rings. I feel like not logging in. I feel like laying in bed crying instead of hanging out with friends. I'm going to give myself permission to cry when I need to. To cancel plans when I can't put on a smile for everyone else. To spend time journaling rather than folding laundry. Because I'm still working through my grief. I'm still going through the process...even though my progress is not something that moves in a straight line.

My way of remembering

The ring I bought from Etsy to remember my Dad came today. I am very pleased with it. I'm not awesome at taking pictures, but I did take some so I could share. It's hammered silver and the inscription is stamped on the inside "Daddy, always in my heart". It also has a heart on the outside.

On the eve of my graduation....

So here I am on the eve of my graduation from college.  I have a lot of thoughts and am feeling a lot of different things.  Pride. Accomplishment. Excitement. Sadness. Disappointment. Denial.

It's taken a lot for me to get here.  I took my first class in the fall of 1994. It was a bankruptcy law class at a community college.  I had just found out that I was pregnant with my son.  I have gone to school off and on for 15 1/2 years in hopes of finishing my bachelor's degree. That's almost half of my life. In the time that I have been in school I have had 2 children, gotten married, had cancer, lost my father to cancer, dealt with Abby's various health problems, sold and bought a house, had undiagnosed sleep apnea and even had the swine flu.  I feel like every semester I have had some problem I have had to go to a professor (or three) with and ask for understanding.  For someone who has social anxiety disorder that has not been an easy task. I have taken more finals than I can count.  Written more papers than I remember. Made dean's list and also failed classes. 

It's been a struggle but I never I gave up. Not even when I faced my biggest challenge....losing my Dad.  When I lost him in November, it was a very difficult time to be taking finals and putting the finishing touches on projects and papers.  I thought about not going back for the spring semester. But I was so close to graduating.  Before my Dad died, I had applied for graduation and knew I was going to graduate in May. For him I needed to follow through as planned.  It has been a very difficult semester for me and it certainly is not a shining example of the work I am capable of. But I survived it.

And I will survive tomorrow as well. It will be very hard for me to go to graduation tomorrow and not see his face in the crowd. His approval meant more to me than I would like to admit. I would give nearly anything to hear him say to me tomorrow that he was proud of me.  I would give nearly anything to pose for pictures for with him wearing my cap and gown.

In the past few months I have wrestled with decision to walk across that stage tomorrow.  I know it will be one of the most joyous and hardest things I have done. Certainly I am proud of myself and it only feels right to recognize this accomplishment.  But it will be hard because it is not going to be how I dreamed it would be.  People tell me that my Dad will be watching and he'll be there in spirit.  I know that's true.  I know he'll be there in my heart.  I know he'll be there in my Mom's heart and my sister's and my children's.  But the pain will be there too. Sometimes things in life are bittersweet.  This is defintely one of those things.

I have cried a lot of tears in the past few months as well.  Missing my Dad has been a physical pain for me.  I think tomorrow will be the hardest "without Dad" milestone I have crossed yet.  But I know he would be proud.  I know he believed in me.

If you were to ask me what I learned in the past 15 years of off and on school, I would tell you the things you'd expect to hear: perserverance, critical thinking, study what you are passionate about and of course, don't procrastinate.  The most important lesson I learned though is that there is no project, no paper or test that could ever be more important than your family. Those of us who are older "non-traditional" students know the sacrifices that need to be made to be successful in our studies.  You miss dinner with your family, family events, sleep, time with your children, Valentine's Day parties at your child's school.  You do all that with the drive to make a better life for your family. You do it to be a good example for your children. To give yourself a sense of satisifaction.  Can I share a secret with you?  My biggest regret about how I handled my Dad's illness was the time I devoted to writing that perfect paper rather than sitting with him and talking those last 2 months of his life. The last day I saw him conscious, I almost didn't go.  I was so busy and overwhelmed with school that I almost missed out on those precious few hours with him. I'm here to tell you that those papers never should have been more important that my family.  And although I am about to begin that next chapter by pursuing my master's degree, I will never put those papers over my family again.

I certainly have to juggle my roles as wife, mother and student very carefully.  But there has to be a better way.  And my goal for the next chapter of my life is to find that way.  Because the other important thing I learned about myself is that I am in love with learning.  And I know Dad will be watching tomorrow, just as know that he'll be watching me this fall as I walk back onto campus as a graduate student.  I know he'd be proud. 

Waiting To See You Daddy
Written by Daisy Estrada
Friday, 02 October 2009 05:06

The colors faded
Daddy, the day you left
I know you had cancer
but I didn't think you would leave
Just a horrible nightmare
I still can't believe
My heart fell to pieces the day we found out
When the doctor came in and filled our lives with doubt
It was the first time I saw my fearless daddy's eyes fill with fright
Who knew that the days that would come would no longer be bright
Why didn't you get better?
One of the many questions that torment my mind
If only I could I would rewind
To warn you to eat and live more healthy
So that now maybe you could still be
To tell you to go to the doctor regularly
So today I would not be so sad and angry
To spend more time with you
Although I had a boyfriend and remind you, Dad, that I still love you too
To tell you I'm so proud and lucky you're my father
So that I can see you blush and your warm smile
To tell you I'm sorry for all the times I misbehaved
So I wouldn't feel so guilty and feel my heart cave
To hug you and kiss you and thank you for everything
So you knew how much I appreciated you when you were there
To be a better daughter
Like you were such a wonderful father
But reality hits and I can't rewind
So instead I wait for the day I die to be reunited with you again
and see your face so kind

Copyright 2003 by Daisy Estrada. All rights reserved.

Remembering today...

Today marks 5 months since I lost my Dad. There's so much I want to say but it's still so painful for me.



This is one of my favorite pictures of him because I think this was a really happy day for him. This was taken the day we celebrated his last birthday. I like to think that heaven for him is like this. A beautiful day in the park where he can take a nap under a a tree.



I miss you Dad.

A Poem

Gone to the Unseen

At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer's call
and flew beyond space and time.

As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.

The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.

You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?

I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!

O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.

The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.

Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .

Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.

---Rumi

Lots of balls in the air right now

The reason I named this blog "Juggling it all" is because I feel like I'm always juggling different roles and responsibilities in my life. It's never just one thing and it's never calm. And right now is no exception...so here's an update of sorts.

I am working on making and dealing with big changes in my life. The biggest thing is dealing with losing my Dad. Up until recently I have been in shock and survival mode. With time and therapy, I feel like I'm able to start grieving. It's been rough. I find that I cry a lot. And I find that I don't feel sure who I can talk to anymore. It seems that there's a timeframe of how long it's acceptable to other people to talk about crisis or tragedy in your life. Although I do have a couple of people I can talk to, I feel like with most people the window of acceptability for talking about my loss has closed. I struggle with my sadness, the sense of emptiness and trying to make sense of a life without one of the most important people to me. My therapist says I can still have a relationship with my Dad even though he's gone. I'm not sure that entirely makes sense to me, but I'm trying to understand how that will work.

I am also making some big health changes. I'm not going to pretty this up...we all know I'm fat. I have a lot of weight to lose. My weight is something I have struggled with my whole life. I did have a block of time in my life where I was truly happy with my weight until my thyroid decided to screw that up for me. I've been on the South Beach diet for a few weeks now and have lost 10.5 pounds. (Yes I have to mention that 1/2 pound because to me...every ounce counts) I haven't been perfect on the diet, because let's face it changing your eating habits completely is a struggle. Especially if like me, you are an emotional eater. Even harder when you have a lot of emotions you'd like to eat.

On top of eating better, I am dealing with the effects of being this size. I have been afraid for a long time of having a diabetes test. I finally sucked it up and had a full physical. I am super thankful that I do not have diabetes but I realize that if I don't make changes I will have it someday. I do have high blood pressure which I am now taking medicine for. That is disappointing to me, but at least I'm getting it under control. The biggest change is that I have been diagnosed with severe sleep apnea. This involves using a cpap machine every night when I sleep. It forces air down my airway which sort of props open my airway so I don't stop breathing. During my sleep study, I stopped breathing 90 times in an hour. Kinda bad. I am struggling to get used to my cpap and working out some kinks with it, but I am very much looking forward to getting some real sleep.

Another big change is that I'm about to graduate. Eeek, out into the real world. Sort of. I had always planned to go to graduate school immediately following my Bachelor's degree. But after the way last semester turned out for me, that's not going to work out as planned. I am probably going to have to take a semester off instead unless I win the Lotto or the Publisher's Clearing House shows up at my door with balloons and a big check. I don't have time to get into a graduate program and Uncle Sam will only loan me my tuition money if I'm I get into a graduate program during the semester I'm an "at-large" student. And so, I wait. It's weird for me to think of taking a semester off. I've not electively done so since 1998 when I had to quit school to work full time. I've consistently been in school since 2003.

An update

I've been trying to concentrate on Josh and the kids along with finishing up the semester. I have 1/2 of a paper written...the rest is due on Thursday. I have 2 finals tomorrow which I spent the weekend studying for. Wednesday I have to make a french test and take that final as well. I am almost done with this semester from hell.

I am doing okay most of the time. But I think I'm still in shock too. I can get through most of the day thinking life is normal and then something reminds me and I just miss my Dad. I miss him so much. I miss his advice. I miss talking to him about mundane things like which weather person we trust on ABC or where gas is the cheapest. I miss his stories about things that went on in his life. I miss his crazy beard. I miss the randomness of his affection. He always loved us, but he was more the type of person to do something to show you his love rather than saying "I love you".

I have a wonderful group of friends from the internets. Wow, I am just blown away by the kindness. Vikki drove down for Dad's funeral. Teiva sent me some thoughtful goodies that cheered me up. All the kind comments and well wishes you have given me mean so much.

I have been posting with a group of mostly ladies for almost 10 years now. We started out all selling on eBay and it's moved on from that. I've met a few of them in real life as well. They were so supportive during my cancer diagnosis and also have really been there for me through Dad's illness and his passing. They sent me beautiful flowers and restaurant gift cards so I didn't have to cook. They donated to the scholarship fund at my parents' church in Dad's honor. They also sent me a check to do whatever with. I am going to donate that money in honor of my Dad to help women & children in Africa because that's my passion. I am looking into some charities to see what is out there. I am so thankful for my internet friends. It's amazing how people who have never shaken your hand can touch your heart so deeply.