Category Archives: Greif and Bipolar


I haven’t been able to do much of anything these last few months.

In my last blog post, I mentioned what I was going through with my Dad and his health.

On January 11th my Hero and Dad passed away. It was also my 46th birthday.

I’m not even sure what was put as his official cause of death. I had so many questions that no one was in a hurry to answer. My sister didn’t question any of it. I have to be extremely careful with what I say now. If not I’m accused of being “paranoid” or “imagining things”. I also have to be careful not to cry too much and make a “scene”.

I kept my Dad home with me for as long as I physically and in good conscious could. When he refused to go to dialysis one morning, all I could do was beg him or bribe him. Soon it didn’t matter, he would hide under his blanket and like a child pretended he was invisible.

He was also falling more. I wasn’t going to restrain him, he had the right to walk around his own house. We made the downstairs completely his and as safe as possible. I just couldn’t be up all day and night. I would feel so guilty when he would get confused and think it was time for dialysis. It would be 2:30 in the morning when I would hear a thud and immediately know he had fallen.

The weight loss was disturbing in itself. How many times can you call the same doctors? The other problem was my Dad had only given my name as an emergency contact. This would turn into bigger problems.

My Dad never did a Will or put someone else with him on his bank accounts. He did no End of Life Planning at all. There’s so much to do and go through there isn’t a time when I don’t feel nauseous. And lucky me the dry heaves are back in full force.

I know I’m sick. I kept putting things off to take care of and be with my Dad. My kidney stents should’ve been changed in November. I’m losing weight again, my vision has changed for the worse, and last but not least I’m having auditory hallucinations. I keep hearing voices outside, bottles being thrown in a recycling bin, car doors, and voices of family members coming to visit (ha). It could be anything so I’m not panicking yet.

My twin isn’t making any of this easier. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. Her suggestion for everything is that I go to an intensive treatment facility for mental health and addiction. She said we can’t have a relationship unless I do.

My Dad was the best anyone could’ve asked for in a Father. He had his faults but was always there for his family. He went from a 30-year-old man who never said “I love you” or showed affection, to a man who hugged me and told me he loved me almost every day.

He loved my Mom so much I don’t think he ever got past her death.

The night before he died he was unresponsive and so small in the hospital bed. I got behind him so I could hold him and he could hear me.

“It’s okay Dad. I’ll be okay. You can let go now. I love you more than anything but there’s somewhere else you need to be. So get in your boat and find her.”

His foot arched back and he opened one eye to look at me briefly, he sighed and was out again.

He was ready.



As far back as I can remember my twin sister and I always received the same amount of presents under the tree. My mom made sure that neither of us felt that one got more than the other. It mattered a great deal to her. I just wanted her time. I still do.

When I was old enough to buy presents for my parents I went overboard. In our teens and early twenties my sister and I put both our names on the gifts. I was the one who usually paid for them. I let it happen. I knew every year that my sister would mysteriously or conveniently forget her wallet. It didn’t matter, I wanted to make sure my parents received the gifts they deserved. Neither one of them had much growing up and Christmas was probably not a good time for either of them. That’s why they made sure it was for us.

When my parents were married my father gave my mother a gold plated wedding band from K-Mart. They were married by a justice of the peace with only one witness. My sister and I were five years old. My mom didn’t care about fancy rings as long as she had my dad.

Secretly, she did want a “real” wedding ring. I never thought of my father as being the romantic type or very perceptive when it came to women. I didn’t give him enough credit.

I can’t remember how old I was. I believe I had to have been in my in my early teens for this special Christmas. I may not remember the year but I’ll never forget what happened.

My mom opened her usual gifts from my dad, household items. What every woman wants on Christmas. But there was one large box left. As she unwrapped it she found another wrapped box. This continued until she came to a small wrapped box. My dad didn’t make it easy. He used packing tape on all of the boxes. When she opened the small box it held a ring box. I immediately saw her face change. She wasn’t laughing anymore. Her face was red and she was silently crying. She looked afraid to open the ring box thinking it was a joke.

My dad finally cleared his throat and said “Honey, it’s okay, open the box”. When she did there was a beautiful diamond ring inside. I couldn’t stop crying at this point. Just watching the pure love and joy on that sweet woman’s face was enough for me. She didn’t care that it wasn’t a large diamond. What moved her was that my father did it out of love and on his own.

No matter what life had thrown at them they always faced it together. No matter what I did to them they loved me together. They were best friends, husband and wife.

My mind blocks out how long she’s been gone. I think it’s been 9 years but it still feels like yesterday. We stopped celebrating Holidays my father and I after she passed away. The rest of the family didn’t. Both of us just want to be left alone. I spend the time punishing myself for all of things I did not do and all of things I wish I had. I remember all of the things said, some good and some horrible. I am told that because I went undiagnosed for so long and also have Conversion Disorder that grief is different for me. I will most likely never be able to achieve any kind of closure.

In a way I’m okay with that. My father is 73 and on Dialysis. His health is slowly deteriorating before my eyes. I live with him and we are close. I’m not sure how I will handle losing him. I don’t think I will do well. This gaping hole in my chest that aches constantly can’t handle much more. I treasure the days I’m numb and manic. But there aren’t enough of them. There’s just this limbo.


She was born on a mountain April 1945 that became Fayetteville, NC.

She was born with nothing and longed for a better life.

She took care of her brothers and sisters when there was no one.

She sacrificed an education to provide, only making it to Middle School.

She first saw He at the same school and would find her better life.

She went through much pain and heartache before He.

She eventually married bringing her 7 year old son with her.

She loved He for loving both of them.

She and He had twin daughters, She was over the moon.

It would take He a little longer to come around.

She wanted a house full of He’s children, but it was not to be after the Cancer.

She accepted this unexpected blow and instead became everyone’s She.

She loved to cook for and comfort the wounded souls around her.

She supported, loved, and gave me hope almost everyday.

She became sick again and this time left us, me, with a hole inside.

She passed February 21, 2008 I remember the pain and fear in her eyes.

She is so beautiful, from her hands to her big blue eyes that

He still sees when he looks into his daughters faces.

She is missed the most by Me, her daughter, with the sorrow filled soul.

She is my mom. Gone 8 years now and it feels like an hour ago.

I grieve the hardest, loudest, and longest.

Because like she I love harder, louder, and longest.

 Mother, Daughter, Sister, Grandmother and She.


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