Well, obviously I'm here because I'm distressed. Many of my current issues are simply just a matter of adjustment and establishing a sense of normalcy.
So we've moved back to Vancouver. My hometown. Where my mom is and now where my job is and where Eddy's school is. For numerous reasons we decided that moving was our next step, and our best option. I applied and received a promotion to a banker position. I am excited about it, and I think I'll do great. I am sad to have left my original branch and all of the people there. I am realizing more and more how great we worked together and how successful we were as a team. I really do miss them! I'm hoping I will have that exact sentiment for my new branch very soon, but I do definitely see some issues, none of which are in my direct control.
My mom (and our bank account) is soooo happy to have us back. Eddy and I are staying in my mom's basement apartment, Elaina is upstairs in my old bedroom and Cole has the remaining bedroom to himself. Obviously the kids are ecstatic to have their own spaces again; living in the same space was starting to wear on them. Our little basement apartment is slowly turning out pretty cute! We're going to be footing all of the utility bills and grocery costs, so we'll be able to set some money aside for savings and contribute to the cost of Eddy's school (we don't want to finance too much in the way of student loans).
Eddy will be going to school to get his Bachelor's degree in Logistics. So 4 years from this Fall, maybe I'll be a happy homemaker... if I'm not a happy banker at that point. He is restless about being unemployed and is looking for something part-time.
Being back is so hard though. Seeing my dad's things and missing his voice and laugh and hugs. I'm currently typing on his old computer. I will never stop saying it (even though it is a waste of breath): it's not fair. I've been so tired since we've arrived and don't really want to go anywhere but home and work. I've been having stomach issues and wish I could dismiss the thoughts that things could be seriously wrong. Logically, I KNOW that it is highly improbable that I have pancreatic cancer (yep, I'm that crazy), but after believing for so many years that my dad was the strongest, most invincible creature of this earth and watching him become riddled with pain and cancer, I'm just a little extra paranoid about my body's functions and dysfunctions. I wish someone, somewhere, with some serious credibility could provide me a logical explanation of why life is so fucking confusing, scary, and gray sometimes? Personally, I'm all for black and white. I like definite.
Oh and happy things I've neglected to tell you, since I only post crappy things here? Eddy and I were so happy to be married on June 12, 2010. He officially adopted Elaina and Cole on July 7, 2010. I cried super happy tears both times. I love my family. I love my kids. I love my husband. I love my mother and I love and miss my dad. I am super fortunate to have what I have. I guess it's just human nature to not ever be truly settled and content?
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
My problem writing (better than drinking)
There is nothing new to report. 39 days until our wedding and while I am ecstatic to be married to Eddy, I am highly stressed about getting it all put together (including fitting into my dress).
Several people have told me that I should pursue a career in writing. While I agree that I am a decent writer, there is a big obstacle blocking that idea. I only write interesting, insightful, and well-thought out sentences when I am upset or feeling intense about something. My happy writing is boring.
So what brings about my post today? I was finalizing the guest list for our wedding ceremony and clicked on a saved file from last year with our list of invited guests. My dad was #2 on that list. It's a waste of finger-energy to even type this because I know that it doesn't change anything to type it or make anything better, but it just isn't fair that he's gone. It just ISN'T fair. I miss him so much. I've started dreaming nearly every night about showing up at the wrong place for my wedding, or forgetting my vows, or Eddy showing up at the wrong place, the judge not showing up, or my dress being stained, or some other wedding freak-out. Last night, in between those type of dreams I dreamt that my dad had inhabited my sweet cat Benji. He talked and sounded just like my dad and I carried him around with me. At one point my little family and I were walking down a country road on a beautiful, sunny summer day with my dad (the cat). It was sure nice to finally enjoy a dream.
Several people have told me that I should pursue a career in writing. While I agree that I am a decent writer, there is a big obstacle blocking that idea. I only write interesting, insightful, and well-thought out sentences when I am upset or feeling intense about something. My happy writing is boring.
So what brings about my post today? I was finalizing the guest list for our wedding ceremony and clicked on a saved file from last year with our list of invited guests. My dad was #2 on that list. It's a waste of finger-energy to even type this because I know that it doesn't change anything to type it or make anything better, but it just isn't fair that he's gone. It just ISN'T fair. I miss him so much. I've started dreaming nearly every night about showing up at the wrong place for my wedding, or forgetting my vows, or Eddy showing up at the wrong place, the judge not showing up, or my dress being stained, or some other wedding freak-out. Last night, in between those type of dreams I dreamt that my dad had inhabited my sweet cat Benji. He talked and sounded just like my dad and I carried him around with me. At one point my little family and I were walking down a country road on a beautiful, sunny summer day with my dad (the cat). It was sure nice to finally enjoy a dream.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
And life goes on...
I can't BELIEVE I will wake up to February tomorrow. Just a couple days and four months until the wedding. Still so much to do.
I still wake up everyday, alive, and have no dad to call. I've just started thinking about what I would tell him if I could speak with him. I imagine somehow maybe he can hear me.
Religiously schooled, I have never been. My dad was agnostic, my mom a childhood Mormon. I've always maintained an agnostic outlook. I just don't know, and I don't feel that there is anything out there that comes close to convincing me of any theory on life, afterlife, and the meaning of life. Honestly, thinking of the human race as delicately mortal, no more capable of living beyond death than a spider I squashed on my bathroom wall, is pretty depressing. So daydreaming that there is something beyond is pleasant. And I wish I felt hope in the sense of it actually happening was a possibility. But I feel hope more in the sense of wishing. And imagining seeing him again feels similarly unreachable as fantasizing about winning huge in the lottery.
I'm coming to realize that a day will not pass that I do not think of him. Most days I cry for him. Some days it's all I can think of, and other days a pleasant memory reminds me of him and brings a tearful smile to my face.
I was reading through my blog tonight, feeling neglectful and realized that I wrote so much about my dad and his illness and how therapeutic it was for me. I've not written much since. I think I will try to make a conscious effort to do so, because it really does help.
I still wake up everyday, alive, and have no dad to call. I've just started thinking about what I would tell him if I could speak with him. I imagine somehow maybe he can hear me.
Religiously schooled, I have never been. My dad was agnostic, my mom a childhood Mormon. I've always maintained an agnostic outlook. I just don't know, and I don't feel that there is anything out there that comes close to convincing me of any theory on life, afterlife, and the meaning of life. Honestly, thinking of the human race as delicately mortal, no more capable of living beyond death than a spider I squashed on my bathroom wall, is pretty depressing. So daydreaming that there is something beyond is pleasant. And I wish I felt hope in the sense of it actually happening was a possibility. But I feel hope more in the sense of wishing. And imagining seeing him again feels similarly unreachable as fantasizing about winning huge in the lottery.
I'm coming to realize that a day will not pass that I do not think of him. Most days I cry for him. Some days it's all I can think of, and other days a pleasant memory reminds me of him and brings a tearful smile to my face.
I was reading through my blog tonight, feeling neglectful and realized that I wrote so much about my dad and his illness and how therapeutic it was for me. I've not written much since. I think I will try to make a conscious effort to do so, because it really does help.
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