Uncharted Territory

It's been 10ish months since I posted. Shocking, I know. I suck at blogging. To quickly catch up: After a very long, and somewhat risky pregnancy, I had a healthy, perfect baby boy at the end of June. I'll get to his birth story at some point. AJ has entered the Terrible 2's, and is testing my patience every day. We're struggling financially, but should it will get better this fall when I start school. More on that later too. My dad died 3 days after Jackson was born....which leads me to the subject of this post.

I'm really struggling to figure out and deal with how I feel about Dad. He hadn't shown up for work in 2 days and his boss had called to see what was going on. Jim went to his house to check on him. Sitting here waiting for news felt like forever. At that point I didn't think anything was really wrong, even though the sinking feeling in my stomach deepened with every minute that passed. When I got the voicemail saying that he had died, I was so shocked. I felt like I was punched in the gut. And then I went numb. I didn't let myself feel anything. I kept myself busy with AJ and Jackson, and tried not to think. It was suprisingly easy. The day of the funeral, though, I had to work at it. I was desperate to not break down in public. And for the most part, I managed to do it. I was fine during the visitation. I cried during the funeral service, but we were in the front row so no one saw it. The burial was the hard part. Seeing the box lowered into the ground...having to leave it there...

I still don't really let myself deal with it. I'm alright during the day, but every night when I go to bed my thoughts always turn to him. It still doesn't even really seem real. How can he just be gone? He had just been at our house the day before he died to meet Jackson. Before then, it had been several weeks since I'd seen him. We were on civil terms, but not close by any means. I've never forgiven him for everything he's done to me and Mom. If it weren't for Andy, I don't even know how often I'd have been willing to see him. Now he's gone, and I wish things could have been different. I don't regret my decision to mostly cut him out of my life. I had every reason to do it. He had been better since we moved back to Wisconsin. He was always on good behavior around me. It was just too little too late though.

So now, I'm sitting here listening to Pink Floyd, which was his favorite band (as well as mine), and trying to figure out where I stand. I'm sad. I don't know if I miss him, or miss the relationship I wish we could have had. I can't just forget the years of pain that he caused. But how can you stay mad at someone who's dead? I'm confused.