Coping

I've been visiting with a new friend, Cristin, who was special to my dad — and I completely understand why.  She has checked on me throughout this process, as well as since my parents passed. She understands. She's been there. Her dad died from cancer, too. She took care of her dad, too. She knows the loss.

She checked on me today. I explained I had a bad case of the blahs lately. (I had talked to my friend, Lisa, about this, too. Lisa lost her dad after a horrible, miserable years'-long battle with debilitating MS. It's only been a couple of years since she lost him.)

Both Cristin and Lisa reminded me the blahs are depression.

I knew that. I knew because I have known depression my entire life. It's been a spirit-breaking battle, and until a couple of years ago, I was nasty, nasty, nasty to myself about it. I blamed myself for having weak character. I couldn't apply my compassion for others to myself. My attitude certainly only made my depression worse. I mean, who wouldn't be depressed for hating herself for something that wasn't her fault?

I have since experienced a few things so I can behave differently with myself and cope much better with the depression I was taught early on to be "endogenous" — the kind that's genetic. (Although I do believe it becomes a vicious cycle because the depression takes on a life of its own as a coping method for life.)

Discussion of that type of depression deserves it's own attention. I might get there at some point. Thing is, you don't need me to talk about it ... information is everywhere: Books, research, articles, support groups, etc. (Thank goodness!)

But these blahs feel much different than the depression I've been used to. This depression — being situational over the loss of loved ones — has a clear, easy reason for surfacing. The endogenous ... not so much.

I'm not frustrated with this one because I know exactly what it is and where it comes from. I am much nicer to myself about it.

I know that my tiredness will pass. I know my mind and my body need time to recover from my emotional marathon of a year.

I know (from dealing with the other depression) how important it is for me to stay close to those routine things that ground me in my day. For me, I have morning meditation and Bible readings, prayer, and writing. I have a wise group of people I regularly hang out with throughout the week. I "try" to get enough rest, but restless leg syndrome is a real bitch, you know? I don't drink, smoke or use drugs. I "try" to eat well — but, dang, that's really hard. I exercise regularly now that my parents have passed.

Those are the basics. I have lots of other things I could (i.e., think I "should") be doing right now that the blahs completely interfere with. I suppose they can wait and will still be there when the fog lifts.  I'm trying to be patient with myself about it.

Most important right now is what happens between my ears regarding the loss of my parents. There are days and times throughout the days when I want to focus on the way my mom looked the day she had her second massive stroke — the one that took her physical life.  I'm tempted to think about the fact that she didn't have much time to enjoy the garden we made pretty for her, or that she didn't get to see her Mother's Day gift, or that she suffered so much emotionally the last seven months of her life.

I get tempted to focus on how much my dad loved life and had so much left he wanted to do. I think about  how it broke his heart to no longer have the strength to play golf.  I think about the way my dad looked during his continual decline, and the way he looked lying in that hospice bed the last few days.

Then I have to make myself stop and get grateful. Yes, grateful. I have to stop right then and there and thank God that my parents are in a perfect and beautiful place of eternity now. They are physically, emotionally and spiritually whole. They are together. They are getting to do wonderful things (like play golf). All the questions they may have ever had have been answered. Whatever was not healed in this lifetime is healed now.

My parents are now with the loved ones (AND PETS) who went before them. My dad gets to play golf with Don Kaplan again (the friend who taught him to play but died of cancer when my dad was at Texas Tech ... this had a negative, life-changing impact on my dad). My parents got to meet and be with the baby girl they lost (Amy). (And I find it so completely ironic that my parents' "third daughter" in this life's name is Amy.)

And so much more I can't even know or fathom. I'm grateful, as Cristin put it, that today, my parents are having a good day.

And I'm grateful I have a faith that reassures me of these things. Otherwise, I would not be okay right now, and I would have no hope or light.

So, today, I think I'll have a good day with my parents.