StILl CoUnTiNg


When do I stop counting the days?  When will I feel whole again?


Even as I write this it dawns on me (as dawn is breaking, 11/15/2016 6:22 AM,) that I have not felt whole since February 3, 2004, the day my father died.  Not only did my Pops die on my 20th wedding anniversary, but he had also told me several hours earlier in a weak voice that he may not be able to speak to me again, ending with the words, “I love you.”  I think of my dad all the time with his big heart, booming voice, opinionated thoughts, and sloppy kisses and bear hugs.  I have felt comfort (and sadness) in his passing. However, I look to the heavens to find him watching over me and those he loved.


I am content in my spiritual feelings that my father was waiting for his bride, my mother, his D’Vasha, five weeks ago this afternoon as she took her last breath with Joel, Kafia and me by her side.


The days leading up to October 11, 2016, were trying, not that mom was in obvious pain. However, her voice was weak and muffled, and it was hard to understand her.  Food and drink were no longer of interest or of a need to sustain her, and her favorite watermelon didn’t even bring a smile to her face.  The visible changes hospice told us to look for weren’t as obvious, my mother was as unique in her passing as she was in life.


When I sat with my mother, I would share little stories with her about what was happening today with friends and family of yesterday.  I also gave her permission to leave us and join dad, who I knew was waiting for her.  During the 2 ½ months of mom’s end of life journey, she searched for my dad.  On many occasions, she was angry at him because she thought he had abandon her.  I felt it was my responsibility to lead her to him and reassure her, that Gary, Joel and I would be OK.


Here it is five weeks later, and I am not sure I am OK!  I am feeling obsessed with resolving my visions and yet there are so many that I want to hold close.  But sometimes they come to me at times that I cannot deal with them or don’t know how.  I may be driving down the street, and I remember my mother’s agitation.  Or I am sitting in a Starbucks™, alone, and I remember the morning my mother acting like a drunken sailor asking for a beer (she never had a beer in 96 ½ years.)  Sometimes I feel like crying but it doesn’t happen, and other times it makes me giggle, and it comes without hesitation.


Maybe I will never stop counting, and maybe this is feeling whole!  Sharing my story is part of my healing and talking to you will be the next step in the DVasha Series.  I know we all are unique and there is no way to mourn or honor those we love and have lost, we must do it our way.  Sometimes it is even more challenging if we have not been able to heal the wounds created during life.  I was almost one of those…

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beginning of the DVasha series:

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