I Drive Your Truck — and other things

"The best advice I ever had about grief was that it takes what it takes, no more no less, and that no two people grieve exactly the same way." — Joe Hopkins, childhood friend to my parents

I truly believe what Joe Hopkins relayed to me in a recent email. And as I've said before, I find grief to be a somewhat fascinating process — so as I painfully experience mine, I hope to at least watch it from a third-person view and learn a little, too. 

I also believe in the merit of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' famous model of the stages of grief. I have experienced enough loss in my life — though most definitely not the loss of close loved ones — to know how one cycles through those stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, sometimes not so much in order, and sometimes repeatedly until true acceptance makes its way to the heart and the brain. 

So here I am, in the middle of a grieving process that began the day my mother had her massive stroke on Oct. 16, 2014 and I subsequently watched my dad's already terminal cancer progress with lightening speed.  

There was that grief.

And here is this grief. Mom and Dad are gone. Now, I'm experiencing sad, yet also interesting, things.

For example, my wardrobe has largely consisted of "Life is Good" T-shirts, jackets and hats. My mom had even more T's than I do. I've kept her collection to wear, and I'm fully aware when I have one on that it's hers, not mine. 

I wear my dad's pajama bottoms (draw string) and one of his T-shirts to sleep in. And I bought the Moon Pie T-shirt at Cracker Barrel the other day — which I've already worn — in remembrance and honor of his famous "Nehi and a Moon Pie" reference to me and to every kid he ever coached, I think.

The "Mom Cave"

I created my "Mom Cave," which is a space in the front of our house that has had many functions over the years.

The "Mom Cave" now has the comfy recliner we bought for my mom's room when she was staying at "Good Life" (which is a great place, by the way). There's her tiny TV and the relaxation DVDs that calmed her. As soon as I get around to it, I will hang the pictures we had in that room at Good Life, as well. 

The room is now my space with my Bible study and devotional stuff, as well as my writing tools.

But most of all, if you look at the picture, you will see photo boxes and containers. These hold all the treasured family photos from both sides of our family my mom had organized in Ziploc bags; she fully intended to one day put them in photo albums.

That is my job now. This room is where I will do it.

I avoid my parents' house right now. I have since all this began. All I see is their absence at this time. The day will come when Kim and I have to go through everything. But not yet. 

I cry at random things at random times. (Example: I see a highly functioning older person (80s and up) and cry because my parents didn't get to be that way, too.) 

I take comfort in my "Dad Stories" and my parents' "together" stories, yet I cry. But that's OK; I don't avoid that. I listen to the songs played at my parents' funerals, especially "Spirit in the Sky" at my dad's. It just makes me laugh. 

My tattoo. I got this Exodus 14:14 tattoo with the eating disorder recovery symbol two years ago. ("The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.") It became a significant reminder verse for the control freak in me to chill out and stop putting my hands and my will into everything because I was simply screwing everything up!! All I could do was the best I could do, pray about it and leave it up to God.

Little did I know how much more significant this verse would become as I walked through these months with my parents. I even passed it along to my control freak sister, and she is using it, too. 

Yesterday, I had it touched up. I wear it proudly (along with the "Believe" tat on my left wrist). 

By the way, my parents were never fans of my tattoos! :-)

Last, but definitely not least: My dad's beloved truck. When he turned 70 in November, he decided that it was time he got to buy a brand-spankin' new truck just the way he wanted it. 

So he did. He got a 2015 Toyota Tundra in "Childress Bobcat Blue" with all the bells and whistles. 

He drove it right up until the last month or so of his illness. Oh, he loved that truck!

While I've never pictured myself as a pickup truck kind of girl (I'd prefer a BMW or something), I cannot bear to let go of that truck. So I'm buying the truck. I've found I love sitting up high, and it drives so smoothly, it's like a regular car. 

I told my dad before he died that I would buy it, take great care of it, and keep the radio station on K-Love. 

That's what I'm doing, and now I guess I'm a pickup truck kind of girl — even though Jordie says I look kind of funny in it. 

It is my dad's truck, and it's about to have a little "I Drive Your Truck" reminder on the dash.