Waves of Emotions

There are moments when I am easily distracted at work, the gym, or at a dinner when something clicks and reminds me of a thought, a reminder of a great memory of my father.  It hits like a wave coming at you when you least expect it.  At first it feels good like a rush going through your body, cold but refreshing, exciting yet on the edge.  Quickly though that fades, the wave hits and it seems loud but oddly quiet, risky but frightful, finite but everlasting, beautiful but suffocating.  All of these things happen when I think of dad.  All of them come rushing in and at times I lose control.  I have to run to the bathroom to let it out, or bite my lip until I can get somewhere I can breath and release.  Yesterday it was in my office, when I quietly closed my door.  Tonight, its in my living room.  This is all very strange to me and not something I am use to.  Those who know me well I am a very private person and have been taught to hide emotion so its moments like these I feel the most vulnerable.  To even put my fathers story and my emotions out on a blog, I never would have thought I would ever be so open.

I realize it doesn't take a family who has memory lapses for a person to relate to how I feel.  We all have emotions that come through like a tsunami that crashes at the core and god knows a women's hormones doesn't help with the roller-coaster we are already feeling.  It's hard sometimes to understand why there are moments when they hit the most.  Today, I booked my flight to Tucson to see my dad with my brother and as I look forward to the trip, I know I will be disappointed when I get there.  I know, its easier to deal with things when you are from afar.  It's easy to pretend that things are okay, that life moves on and the next day approaches.  It's only during a phone call that I am reminded, but its not as surreal as being faced in front of what is really going on.

I am excited to see my dad and hang out with my brother.  I can't wait for us to be together in one house, cooking, drinking, laughing, listening to my dads favorite tunes he grew up with.  I know however it's a ticking clock, a bomb that keeps lighting but doesn't quite hit the dynamite.  I know I will find out more about this disease when I land and how its progressed.  I will smile and pretend that everything is okay so that dad doesn't feel judged, confused or that he has lost his position in the ranking of this family.  I will collect my information, calculate the loss, total my damages and come back home with ideas on next steps.  This is a process I am getting way too good at. So as that wave approaches and I am sitting in a meeting, at the gym or looking out at a beautiful city over dinner, I will not hold my breath but hope that I will survive the water that is about to crash.  I accept what it brings and hope that I have the strength to float back to the surface, holding on, waiting for the next one to hit, knowing that I have prepared to survive this.  I must admit however, at times, the wave does knock me down, catches me at my best, pulls me underwater where I am almost out of breath, but somehow when I least expect it, I always find a way to pull myself back up to the surface looking back at the wave that has now rolled softly onto the shore.