I want to break my blog/writing drought. I might not make my living from it, I might hate it a lot of the time, but writing is what I do. How I communicate. Sort myself out.
I’ve been stalled for weeks. Months. Something always seems to come up. The irony being that my ability to get things out of my head is inversely proportional to the volume of stuff in my head.
Though I’ve wanted to write this post for at least a little while now, I’ve been putting it off. Because it will be hard, and I’m already getting choked up, I’m going to keep it fairly short.
In January, we finally moved out of my parents’ house and into the one they had bought for us to rent… to put it simply, and gloss over the two weeks of intense cleaning, sanding, stripping, plastering and painting to prepare the house. We had a lot of help from a lot of people, but often it was just me and Dad working our way through. It was an overwhelming month. I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained, still fighting with the tugs of guilt and the complete loss as to how to ever thank my parents. Eventually, we settled into the house, and life became calmer.
In April, very unexpectedly, my dad passed away.
He was about to have a completely unextraordinary operation to correct his deviated septum, and reacted badly to the anaesthetic. It took over 30 minutes of resuscitation for his heart to continue on its own and that, as we eventually had to discover, is too long for the brain handle. We spent five days with him in the intensive care unit before saying goodbye. I don’t know if I even have to say that it was the worst week of my life.
Over 400 people attended his funeral two weeks ago. Four hundred. To be at the centre of that mourning… I just…
There is so much I could, and want to, write. About experiencing and witnessing grief like this. About the effects on immediate and extended family relationships. About how little I ultimately knew about my dad as a person, and not just my father. But at the moment, though I feel I’m in a numb state between the initial shock and the eventual understanding, I just can’t. I can’t even think about these things. The thoughts get louder and louder and I can’t hear any of them clearly; they just turn into a big, barbed knot of sorrow.
We are waiting for some questions to be answered. He had had numerous operations under general anaesthesia before, with no complications. He’d also had no history of heart problems. We need to know – particularly for the potential medical implications for me, my sisters, Devin, Dad’s brothers and nieces and nephews – what exactly happened.
In all honesty? I’ve taken my usual approach when it comes to unpleasant matters, and that is willful ignorance. I know it’s still there. I’m just choosing to keep the door closed. It will have to be opened eventually. But for now… I do the best I can, for everyone around me.