I never thought that one day things would ever get easier and even though there are many challenges which I am facing as the only child, I still feel like an orphan but I feel less sorry for myself.
Growing up I never thought my parents would die, but they did and the pain I suffered was not only mentally challenging but physically as well. I hurt, I physically hurt. When my mother passed away, I had my father to lean on for moral support and it was not easy but it was no where near the amount of grief I went through after my father passed away last July and leaving me to feel abandoned and feeling like little orphan Annie. (minus the curly red hair).
I focused so much on dates, such as Sundays. Sunday is when my mother passed but Sunday is also when I spent the entire day laughing, fighting and sharing stories with my dad over lunch that I would deliver to him. Sunday’s are easier now but they are not perfect. I still shed tears, I still have panic attacks and I still physically hurt, but less now.
I closed on my parents house one week ago today. One week seems like yesterday when I was shaking, finding it difficult to sign the dead, mad, full of hate and full of deep sadness. That has not went away, but I know it will get easier with time. Time heals they say and even though I do not believe that it fully heals, I feel like other things take place of the deep grief I have had and still have. My parents house now is no longer mine, it is no longer a place that I can go to remember stories, it is a house that someone else is making memories in that are no longer my own.
Everyone dies. It sucks to say the very least. It is even difficult for me to write this while feeling a lump in my throat, anxiety taking over and mixed emotions running through my head but a chapter in my book has ended and soon I will be writing a new book once I sell the farm that I inherited and currently live in. Moving will not erase the heartache or even the physical pain that I endure but it will bring sunny days, new adventures and new memories and I know that my parents would want that for me.
Earlier this year, I got the stomach flu but looking back I could swear it was my dad taking over my body saying he hates chicken. The diner he always went to for lunch and often dinner, the diner he shared many stories and laughter knew he hated chicken and sometimes would run a special for “Tom’s Chicken”. Today, when I eat chicken, I laugh and remember my father and also my mom’s love for chicken but rarely could fix it because my dad hated it so much. I am always thankful for “Tom’s Chicken” no matter where I go.