In my post 'Sifted', I wrote that I didn't know why I was feeling what I was feeling.
In truth, I do know why.
No, its not the weather like so many want to throw out. No, its not my wild work schedule. No, its not raising kids alone.
The weather is what it is and the work schedule and my kids keep me going.
Its that its March.
I hate March.
I hate the third week of March most of all.
Every year I tell myself that this year will be different. That the blackness won't swallow me up.
Then the third week comes.
March 27th I lost my dad.
It was horrible. And traumatic.
And every year I scold myself and tell myself to grow up and get over it.
But I can't.
I can't get over him.
I loved him too much.
March 26, 2001 was the last day I told my dad I loved him. At times I wonder if he really knew how much. And if he really did know how much, why did he do what he did?
Wasn't I enough?
That is the thought that haunts me the most.
That I wasn't enough.
The latter part of March I feel like I digress to a little girl again, the little girl who needs her daddy to come back and fix it all. I go back to being the vulnerable 21 year old who was trying to figure out who she was and where she was going when her life was ripped apart at the news of her dad's death.
The latter part of March brings back the memories of those days following..the days leading up to and through his funeral. I remember I didn't want anyone to touch me. I screamed at anyone who did. My physical nerves hurt and I wanted to crawl into a hole to die alone. I didn't want to have to put on a show and behave for the people who came to see us. I wanted them to all go away.
I used to wake up frequently with night terrors. I would wake up screaming while thrashing uncontrollably. That is one thing I have to give Randy credit for. No matter what a jerk he was and no matter how horribly he treated me; when I would wake up with a night terror he was always kind. He always comforted me and helped me through it. I have to say that much about him. But now when I wake up sobbing from a dream, I wake up alone. I get through it, but it takes a moment longer to get myself awake and back to reality.
While the emotion isn't as intense as it was that day 13 years ago, there is still some lingering memory of it. But I need to mourn in privacy without being reminded of his failures. I want to memorize all that was good about him. Because even though he made his mistakes, his qualities still out numbered his failure.
I think that is why this past week has been hard. I think that is why the constant whining and begging to be snuggled a little longer was grating to my nerves. Even though I went through the motions of real life, inwardly I was subconsciously going back to that week.
I reminded my kids of Mama's sad day and that I needed a minute. I needed a few days to get through this and then they would get their Mama back. I gave myself permission to set boundaries. I give all that I have to give 51 weeks out of the year. I need this week to myself. I don't mean that I won't take care of them, I'm not implying that I'm leaving my kids to fend for themselves. I'm just asking that the neediness, the clinging, halt for one week.
I'll get through this week. Like someone reminds me every year "April is coming..."
I'll get through this week, but this year I'm going to let myself miss him. I'm going to cry for him, unashamedly. I'm not going to feel guilty that I'm not over him yet, because honestly, I don't ever want to get over him.
I'm not going to let the emotions control me the rest of the year, but this week?
This week I'll let the memories wash over me.