Ramblings of an Inquisitive Mind

Yesterday marked the second anniversary of my dad’s death—and in three weeks we will mark the second anniversary of my mother’s passing away. It still seems so unreal that I am existing in a world without them. You know how people always say, “Home is where the heart is”? But how can you find your home when your heart is broken into a million tiny pieces?

Before I say more, I want you to know I worry that you might think I’m just feeling sorry for myself and want some sympathy. I understand that we all suffer loss and we all go through difficult times. And that’s why I want to share my story with you. If I am feeling a little sorry for myself—well, that’s okay too. As long as I acknowledge it and don’t get stuck in it, it is okay. I have never been one to give up. I survive, I strive, I move forward. But dealing with this loss has been extremely difficult for me.

Some of the difficulty for me is because my parents were my home—my heart. My sisters both got married, had children, and formed families and holiday traditions of their own. They have their spouses and kids, and can travel and take family vacations with them. I always had mom and dad. We traveled together; I spent most of my holidays with them, and that was my tradition.

I wish I could begin to put into words the way I always felt pulling into their driveway; the peace that would pour through my heart was something I could actually feel happening as I drove down the dirt drive toward the house. Even if my parents and I were not getting along extremely well, just pulling into the drive was good for my soul.

I think a lot of those feelings came from being on that piece of property we called Spread Oak Farm. I spent most of my life there; we moved there when I was just 4 or 5. My heart and my soul feel at home on that property. The property and the animals I loved there held me close in my childhood, dried my tears, listened to my heart, and gave me the love I needed.

I loved my parents beyond measure. Did we get along all the time? No. Did we have times of estrangement? Yes. Was my mom easy to get along with? No. Was my dad perfect? No. Did they love me? Yes, the very best that they knew how. Did they give me everything I needed? Yes and no. I never lacked for food, shelter, clothing, or any material item. Then what the hell was missing? Emotional support. I will share more stories with you in the future. Today I am just trying to put the pieces of my heart back together.

This time of year is difficult anyway. All the family gatherings and all the romanticizing we see on TV and in the movies about the joys of families being together during the holidays makes things painful if you are alone. It was always good to know I was going home to see my family. Even if it was not always pleasant, at least I had a home, a family, a place.

Now that my parents are gone, I am struggling to establish my own holiday traditions. I mainly just want to pretend nothing special is going on—that it’s just another day. But the never-ending questions from friends and coworkers continually remind me that I am alone. “What you doing for Thanksgiving?” “What did you get for Christmas?” “What did you do for New Years?” Not a damn thing, is the response to all of the above. But I don’t say it. It makes people uncomfortable and the moment awkward. So I mumble some kind of lie and walk away thinking, Wow. I need to get a life.

What am I going to do to get a life? I have no idea. First, I need to get out of bed. Staying there is just another way to hide from the world. I go home, take care of the animals, go to the bedroom, close my door, and crawl into bed. I hang out with the pups or play a computer game, and my world does not seem so empty. But this is too much like alcohol for me, just another way to escape my reality.

Second—I don’t know. Try to put my heart back together so that I can find my home.