The search for comfort

I couldn't sleep last night. My brain wouldn't shut off. Neither of these occurrences is completely new to me, but rarely do they coincide.

I've been on Weight Watchers for two weeks. Ironically, these past two weeks have been awful ones for my family. I can't air my family's dirty laundry here, but suffice to say that we are going through some struggles that threaten to tear us apart. One person in particular knows the ins and outs of this situation, and I am so very grateful for her.

Every day has been a battle. A struggle to make different choices with food, and to resist the all-too-real seduction which has for so long been my source of comfort. It's also a struggle to feel at all, when you know that feelings can hurt so much. The meetings help; the accountability and the chance to connect with other people has been priceless. But I miss my friends in Palm Springs. I miss my neighbors and my sponsor, and I miss being able to deal with sadness in my own way-- sleeping until noon without being bothered, cleaning or baking at 2am, laying in the pool...

But I know that it's important that I'm here. My relationship with my parents is changing, which means that at times I'm the one supporting them. And I don't know that any of these circumstances are going to change or get better. But hopefully I can learn how to move on, picking up whatever pieces of my family are left and trusting that God can make something beautiful out of the broken pieces. I hope I can learn how to move on.

Catharsis

Why is it that pain is so much easier to put to paper? Joy is indescribable, and to a certain extent pain is too. But the feeling of joy never leaves me with this itch to put to it to paper. Not like pain. Pain needs to be defined, to be made sense of through words, no matter how inarticulate.

Sometimes I become self-conscious. Too aware of my compulsion to be optimistic. It comes across in my writing, and I always seem to feel the need to end things with a touch of positivity. I'm sure that this is for the sake of not being seen as a depressive or unfortunate. The truth is, if I was free of all sense of social constraint, this blog would have a lot less positivity and a lot more swearing. Sorry dad.

It's not that my world isn't often a bright and hopeful place. Writing about the beauty in things simply does not come naturally to me. Writing about my pain does.

the Goodbye Tour

This is most likely the last visit I will have with my Grandpa. He is so fragile now and his health is failing, and he has made the arduous trek up from North Carolina so that he can see his sisters and children and grandkids one last time.

His hearing is terrible. It can make conversations with him incredibly frustrating, but they are precious nonetheless. He talks a lot about my Grandma. She died in a nursing home 2 years ago with dementia that made her bitter and confused and and unrecognizable. His last memories of her are not good-- he tells me that once he went to visit her and she had been screaming all day that the staff was going to pour cement on her. He had tried to calm her down, to reassure her that she was ok, but she wouldn't listen. I can tell it's impossible for him to reconcile this image with the woman he loved for over half a century. But still, he says, he often reaches over for her in bed at night and briefly forgets that she is not there.

I just nod and listen, and try not to cry. It's strange and distressing to see my Grandpa like this, to see his heart so irretrievably broken. He says that when they talked about who would die first, it was always him.

I will always hold the memory of my Grandparents as inseparable. And as cliche as it is, it really is comforting to know that they will be together again someday soon. My Grandpa will probably not live to see my wedding or see me start a family, but he will be so happy to be with Grandma again. I hope someday that I find love that is even a fraction of what they've had.

This visit is bittersweet all around, but I am so grateful for it. I will try to soak up as much as I can, the good and the bad and any memory he wants to share. He is the only Grandpa I have ever known, and I'm so blessed to call him that.