With little surprise I have to admit ((Alffe)) is once again right.. the second year is proving harder in many ways.

The defensive numbness is no longer protecting my raw emotions and broken heart. The shock has worn off, to be replaced with unrelenting cruelty, the realization, that Dad is truly gone. This nightmare really happened. My Dad killed himself.

Last year was filled with such extreme, complex emotions and pain, that though I “knew” he was dead, I hadn't faced it. I was so consumed in how he died, that I wasn't able to feel the loss. I feel it now. Though I know I need to in order to heal, I have to say, I miss the numbness that use to overcome me.

I have taken some major steps toward healing. Memorial Day was a major turning point for me. I completely broke that day. Unlike before, with the shock and the protective numbness.. This time I could feel myself crumble.

I didn't want to go to his grave. I hadn't been back since last year when we had a private “service” for my sister who hadn't been able to come to the burial. I didn't want to go back, because then, it was real.

My Grams and I always went to plant our families graves since I was a little girl. When she got too old to go, I carried on the tradition for us. She made me promise when she was gone, I would continue to “take care of our loved ones, don't let them think we forgot about them”. When she died in 06, I went to her grave every single day for months. I planted the biggest garden I possibly could. We “talked” and I let her know, she was not forgotten. It brought me such peace.

I have only been to Dad's grave three times since he was buried. I find no peace there, only pain. Out of respect for him, I decided I had to go. I am not able to share all of what I experienced that day, some of it is just too painful, some too private…..but it was a turning point for me.

I didn't find peace there this time either, but I did find strength. While sobbing, leaning on his stone, a song came to me……….a memory vividly clear…………………

One day I went for our usual visit and my Dad with his booming voice said, hey they made a song about you! He started to chuckle, that laugh that still echoes in the recesses of my mind, and pulled out my chair for me. I knew this was going to be good, I thought it might be a funny song…..(it wasn't)
He then started his CD player and we listened to what Dad called “Nikki's song” …..It was Rodney Atkins, If your going through hell

*crying….He then told me, how proud he was of me. Not the first time, not the last. He often expressed his admiration for how I was able to “handle” my diseases and physical pain. It ripped him apart to see his little girl is such pain. The man never cried for himself, all the pain he had endured… but he cried for my pain.

He said the same thing about trying to cope with Alzheimer's stealing my husband. Lynn was Dad's very best friend, it shook him to the core to see the disease in progress. He often shook his head and said I don't know how you do it. I always told him I got my strength from him. It was the truth.

“Face it head on” This is what my Dad taught me to do with all of life's trials. Don't go around it, it only delays the inevitable. Go straight through it.

…………..

Sitting at his grave, sobbing, I could hear Dad singing that songs chorus to me….

“If your going through hell
Keep on going, don't slow down
If you're scared don't show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there

Yeah, If you're going through hell
Keep on moving, face that fire
Walk right through it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there”



What am I to do now, without his strength to help me through? He had promised he would be here to help me through the loss of Lynn. The first promise he ever broke. How do I continue to live in this world, with all the trials I already face….. and now, with a broken heart, a shattered soul, over his loss?

Head on - Just like he taught me.

After leaving the cemetery, I did another thing that I have been avoiding. I went to his house. My step Mom is someone I can talk freely with about my pain, she feels it just as deeply. She met me at the door and asked if I was ready for this… I replied I will never be ready Mom.. And we both broke down.

I then did something I swore I would never do. I walked up the ramp. This is where Dad and I spent a lot of our specials times. It is where we went out to have our smokes and share private conversations. It is where in the safety of his love I was able to tell him things I have never told another soul. It is where we went when we needed to share … emotions, hugs, love and laughs.

It is also, where he shot himself.

I swore I would never step foot on that ramp. But, somehow I knew, I had to. My Mom left me alone so I could break in private. I stayed there for the longest time. I just can't talk about it yet, if ever…..
But, for the first time, I was able to grieve for the loss of my Dad without how he died clouding those emotions.

I found some peace that day. Peace, strength and courage. Dad is gone in body. Everything we had, everything we shared, our love, that lives in me. I have a long way to go to heal, but while doing so, I plan to make him proud of me..

And yes..... there was a yellow butterfly at the cemetary, and at his house..........


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GaOJsvcIG84