defeated by grief & blank text boxes

This little text box can be so damn intimidating sometimes. It's been almost a week since I last popped in to say hello to you, Blogland. It's not that stuff hasn't been happening—quite the opposite, actually. My anxiety has been running the show the last few days, over the weekend especially, so I've been trying to take it easy and just be gentle with myself. Lots of sunlight. Lots of coffee. Yoga before bed every night. Upping my water intake. Trying to take care of myself and allow myself to feel at peace when the world is no longer crushing me.

I had a meltdown leaving the bank on Friday afternoon after successfully depositing my paycheck and leaving with two checks made out to my dad's estate that I have to jump through major hoops in order to access the money. Option number one: obtain an Estate ID Number from the Courthouse and wait for the state to mail it to me, open a completely separate bank account in order to deposit the checks, withdraw the money and close the account, deposit the money into my personal account. Option number two: Acquire and fill out forms from the Department of Revenue website, mail that and the checks back to the state, and wait 4-6 weeks for them to reissue the checks in my name.

The teller looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I'm so sorry for the loss of your father."

I thanked her quickly and looked away, already fearing the tears that I knew were laying in waiting. They finally spilled over the surface as I headed out the door toward my car. I managed to say hello to one of my coworkers with what I hoped was a graceful "Hey!" in passing, in one door and out the other. All I wanted in that moment was the safety of my air conditioned car. The grief bug had bitten my heart again, and it wasn't about to be ignored.

That's the thing about grief that I always seem to forget in the off moments of grief: it doesn't matter what you're doing or how you feel when it hits you. When it hits you, it hits you hard. You are forced to show up for it whether you are ready or not.

Father's Day being right around the corner is a painful reminder of my grief. I took two vacation days from work for Father's Day weekend because I know that I will not be in the right emotional state of mind to be cheerful to customers all weekend long. My inbox is chock full of Father's Day ads, and usually I just delete them before even opening them. Today, one popped open as I deleted another email and I thought, "I don't even have a dad anymore."

There were tears. The kind that makes you wish you were around your mom so she could hug you and you could wipe your snot all over her shirt instead of your own. Grief is working its way into my days again, constantly reminding me of the moments I have lost with my dad. I miss him. I miss him so much and I don't even know how to articulate it or who the hell is even reading this anyway. The universe just needs to know that I miss my dad, and I wish that he were here right now. And that is okay.