The Robe
I think of my father almost constantly these days. I miss him terribly. I think about the memories I have of him and I hear his voice in my head.
I don't think I'm going crazy. I think that this is normal for a woman grieving for her father. But, I'm still in the denial phase. I think that one morning I will wake up from this horrible dream and he will call me on the phone. Then I cry because that is never going to happen.
The day of the funeral his wife gave us things to remember him by. I got an old Cowboys mug that I gave him one year for a birthday or Christmas, his cowboy boots, a bottle of his cologne and his robe. When I got home I sprayed cologne on his robe and it's stayed in my bed ever since. I sleep cuddled up next to his robe at night. It helps to know that I have something that I can hold close to me as I cry myself to sleep at night.
My father would've wanted me to stay strong during this hard time and I'm trying my best. I try to keep myself busy. Today we're going to a water park to celebrate Labor Day. It will keep me busy and my mind occupied until I enter the house and see his ashes on my mantel. I bought the exact same urn to occupy my small portion of his remains as the one that went inside the wall at the cemetery.
I spent last week framing valuable pictures of my father. I have the blown up picture of him that we had displayed at the funeral home, church and cemetery and another picture of us dancing together at my wedding. He had such a proud and happy smile on his face and the picture of us dancing is priceless to me. I also put his military medals into a shadow box and hung it on my wall.
But, keeping busy is just delaying the inevitable. Grief only waits so long. I have to go through the stages of grief: shock and denial, pain and guilt, anger and bargaining, depression, reflection and loneliness, the upward turn, and acceptance and hope. Right now I'm feeling a little bit of denial and pain and guilt. I should've been there sooner to see my father. I know that everything happens for a reason, but I would've given anything to talk to my father and hear his voice one last time.
About the Author: Cristina C. Fender, 34, is rapidly becoming an expert on Bipolar Disorder. She has been researching Bipolar Disorder and blogging about her own experiences for several years. At age 21 she was diagnosed with depression and saw psychiatrists for over ten years before she was correctly diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder I. Her vision for writing at Raw Writing for the Real World of Bipolar is to inform and educate the public about mental illness. Feel free to Email Cristina a comment or a question.Click here to Subscribe in a Reader.
© 2009 Cristina C. Fender
