I've been yelled at

Yup by my Mother! Her question was "Do you know that you have not updated your blog since February 21st?" My answer was "Yes." For those who read often I am sorry, truly I am. I have so much that I want to share, so much I should not share.

February and March are two of the most difficult months for me. I often wonder how can I be okay for ten other months of the year and these two are so hard. Of course I do not expect those who do not know me in real life to understand my grief. I will be honest I am not sure if I will ever get past my personal grief over losing my Father. I have always felt like he was taken from me at a point in my life when I needed him the most but I guess everyone feels that way when they lose a parent.

I wonder if I ever mentioned that I have five sisters? I wonder if I ever mentioned that even though I am number 5 in the line up out of 5 for my Mother that I was my Father's first born. My Father had been told that he could not have children. My Father was 37 years old when he had me, the same age as I was when Anna came home. I think one of the things that I have battled with is being a middle child and the first born child all in one.

Have I told you all that I started to read a new book? Silver Boxes: The gift of Encouragement by Florence Littauer. This book is interesting to me first off because it is all little short stories about how one's comments to another can affect them both in a positive and negative manner. What I like most about the book is that there are many different inspirational passages from the Bible sprinkled throughout the book.

The basic philosophy is everyone has a silver box. In that box are words of encouragement, little gifts that are given by another. These encouraging words can be given by anyone to anyone. Just as these gifts can be given they can be taken away just as easily with negative comments. I wonder how many times I have said something to another that has not been positive. Is it once or twice a day or more often like once or twice an hour that I take from someone's silver box.

My Father was an interesting person for many reasons. Have I ever told you that my Father had a pretty severe speech impediment? Verbal communication for him was difficult, he would stutter and stammer through what he wanted to say. I think back to my many interactions with my Father and think "Wow he really thought that through before he said that." I am sure that it was in part because of his difficulty speaking easily.

As he was dying he had a stroke. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was at work, my Father was home with my Mother when I got the call. Her exact words were "I think something is wrong. I just do not know what it is." I had her put him on the phone so I could talk to him. I asked him a few questions and suddenly knew just what was happening. I asked him a couple of yes or no questions which he answered then I asked him what my name was and what came out next were words that meant nothing and were not even close to my name.

I had my secretary call Gerard to go and pick him up immediately which he did and bring him to me. I met them all in the Emergency Room just after they arrived Gerard was standing behind my Father who was sitting in a wheel chair. I saw the tears streaming down Gerard's face, he and I both knew this was serious. Facing my Father I had to give him words of encouragement to fill his box that I could handle this and that things would be okay.

Suddenly I realized that I would never hear another word of encouragement from my Father even though he sat right in front of me. My Father had something called expressive aphasia. He could understand everything we were saying to him and could not understand that we could not understand him. There was so much more that he wanted to say to me, my Mother and my sisters but that would never be possible.

Later that night he fell into a coma, as his oldest child I was responsible for making all the medical decisions. My parents had divorced a number of years prior. I remember settling him into his room that night arranging the pillows in just the right spots. His doctor was not on call but the covering doctor wanted to talk to me at the desk. I went to the desk to talk to him and he very coldly told me that he may not recover and did I want him to be a Do Not Resuscitate? My answer was yes. I know it sounds sad that the covering doctor was cold and clinical but I think back and remember that as being a good thing.

I signed the DNR paper not as the nurse witnessing a family member's signature but as that family member consenting to let my Father die in a natural peaceful way. This was the right situation in our case but a decision that later caused some conflict with my younger sister. I was accused of "playing God." I'm not sure if which was harder signing the paper to make him a DNR or hearing those words from my sister.

I am not sure if every work place does this or not but we would celebrate everyone's birthday with a cake and a quick chorus of Happy Birthday. My Father recovered the ability to walk but never the ability to eat enough or to speak in a manner that we could understand him. As I worked I watched over him everyday. My friends pulled out a cake on the 24th of March thinking it was my birthday which it is not and they sang Happy Birthday to me. I looked up and saw my Father in the door way of his room. He walked over to me and we danced a bit, he pointed to himself then me, then my engagement ring and we started to dance again. I knew he would not be there to dance with me at my wedding.

Later that day he was medically cleared for discharge. Which brought on a new difficult task, he would not be able to go home but instead a nursing home. I finished my shift, walked into his room like usual, sat him down looked him in the eye and told him that he was not coming home. He cried, I cried. I did my best to explain all the whys to him. After about 2 hours I thought I had settled him down enough to leave for the night so I could grab so sleep and be back in the morning. I was wrong.

I arrived back to find that he would not wake up, he was in a coma again. I believe he had yet another stroke. The worst part is the feeling that I somehow caused this stroke. The next day he was transferred to the nursing home where he lived for 6 days, one day after my birthday.

Do I believe that my Father wants me to hurt over his death, that answer is easy...No, but I do. My life changed that day.

I do not want to go into the reasons why Gerard and I are not married. To be honest I have been the reason why we did not marry so many years ago. To say I was not in the right frame of mind is a severe understatement. In the past couple of years I realize now that I have taken from Gerard's silver box many times. Is is better to know that you have taken from another's silver box?

Are there plans for Gerard and I to marry? This is always the biggest question. The answer is...YES! I love him he loves me. I guess I just need to be able to think about marring him without bursting into tears. I want to feel like I can share that moment with my family, friends and yes my blogger family. I promise to not leave you all out of that moment as long as you all promise to fill my silver box not take from it.

This may seem very random but really it is not. The last comment that I read from a blogger friend was criticism about not being married. I am asking that you all please have some patience with me. Working through my feelings about this will take some time. I want planning a wedding and a marriage to Gerard to be fun. I was thinking about starting to poll every one about what my wedding should be like. What do you all think?