The Year I Got Old.

Dad was about 25 in this picture

This blog was brought on by a friend's loss of her father and an old photo a neighbor found. We didn't even know it existed until now.

When I got the news of my friend's father's passing, my heavy heart dropped. I understand her shock and grief, and I'm going to try and be there for her. This is going to be incredibly difficult, as you can imagine.

As the anniversary of Dad's death approaches, I've realized something. I got old last year.

Right after Dad passed, I felt depressed and exhausted. I quit my job because I had no energy, no focus, and I was constantly walking around angry. I felt weak and heavy. Even my eyes aren't as good as they were.

Not much has changed. I feel overwhelmed with my new job, unmotivated, and hopeless. I've started writing again, but most days I'm too exhausted to do much of anything. Edits are a struggle, even when I'm excited about them. I second guess every chapter. I used to be an upbeat person, now people avoid me because I'm negative. I've lost friends, but some of them stepped up. (Thank you Sharon, Sherri and Judy,  Jesse and Michelle, and always Mel, Colleen, Sylvia, Rita, Kevin and Ashley for being there.) I used to be the anti-procrastinator, now I just add more items to my to-do list and stare at it. I've started writing my will, but that's easier said than done. What an unpleasant task! I talk about the inconvienience  of aging like a woman twenty years older.

I remember the weather in the days after my father died. I remember wishing it had rained, just because it seems to rain for good people when they died. Or if it couldn't rain, why couldn't it be warm? Dad spent the last months of his life wearing layers because he couldn't get warm. Now I realize the weather was appropriate. Grief is a biting, bitter cold that sticks to you.  I wonder if my friend will forever associate this kind of ugly weather with the passing of her Dad. Will it make her sadder too?

So now I have just turned 46, and I feel old. I never really believed that would happen. Why? How did that happen? How do I recover? Why am I writing this?

I think I'm admitting that I'm not okay. I think I'm worried that my friend will experience the same things I have. I think I'm asking people to understand that losing a parent changes your core self. Please exercise patience and understanding.