God Winked

So The Bank (inappropriately) seized all of my and my Dad’s liquid assets; accused me of theft; refused to pay some of his final expenses; refused to honor his final wishes; and made a move to remove me from my home.  That’s what’s been going on in the three months and 23 days since My Beloved Father passed away. 

No, I haven’t been “living it up,” partying on “all of that money” he left me. 

Quite the opposite.

It is a daily battle with Goliath to honor my Father’s wishes, keep what’s mine, and do what he wanted with the rest.

But that’s not what I want to talk about. 

I don’t even want to talk about the sheer, abject panic I’ve been living in, either…other than to say that it was the WORST panic EVER.  Not when I was “lost” in jail; not when I was in jail; not when that (former) assistant DA stated in court that he would make it his life’s goal to put me in jail did I panic this hard.

Not when I ordered the breathing tube out of my Beloved Father did I panic this hard.

What I DO want to talk about is how God literally winked at me in literally my darkest moment.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The harbinger came when my family visited and saw the battle up close and personal.  They fed me and made it so I could have a hot shower and recharged my dangerously low batteries.  That was on Monday.

The Knight wrote a letter to Goliath for me, outlining my concerns.  I sent it on Tuesday.

On Wednesday, my Beloved Kitty Sunshine needed immediate veterinary care.  Thoroughly strapped, I asked for help.  Grasshopper and the vet pulled together in such a beautiful way to get my Sunshine the care he needed I felt hopeful for the first time since the five-alarm fire in my Dad’s apartment complex that started this whole cycle.

Thursday morning, the vet called to inform me that my Beloved Sunshine inexplicably died in his sleep.

Friday morning, right before I woke up, I dreamed that God asked me for a sit-down.  He had the face of The Preacher and the body of the Lincoln Memorial.  

"I see you've been struggling," He said, sitting across the table from me.  "Look at this letter you wrote a few years ago," and He showed me an actual letter I had actually written (about #3) and burned in my actual fireplace.  "I know you have a crush on Me," God said.  And then He winked at me.  

I woke up KNOWING I was in for the wildest ride yet.

 

Before noon, I was sitting in my Dad’s car in the parking lot of the pawn shop, ready to hock my Beloved Headphones for gas money, when I decided to check my e-mail. 

And what to my wondering eyes did appear but an e-mail from Goliath stating that some of my cash – enough to stabilize myself and Jitterbug and obtain Bucket List Item #1, which I PROMISED myself during those last 40 hours with my Dad I would obtain if I made it through those last 40 hours with my Dad – was being transferred that day. 

I immediately texted The Knight to tell him his letter worked!  I ended with one of my typically sarcastic comments:  “Do you have $100 I could borrow until Monday?  You know I’m good for it.  I’d like to take myself out for a nice steak dinner.”

His response is forever imprinted on my heart.  Suffice it to say I had a lovely steak dinner, I didn’t have to pay him back, and I didn’t have to hock my Beloved Headphones.

Saturday at 6:00 a.m., the cash was available and I was (finally) on my way toward the future my Beloved Father planned for me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

To be clear, the fight with Goliath is far from over, but at least now it knows with whom it’s dealing.  At least now I know with what I’m dealing. 

And I have help.  Help that I trust.  Help whose eyes are not blinded by jealousy or pettiness or any other type of interpersonal BS.  Help that actually, truly sees me for who I actually, truly am.  Help that helps without question or interrogation or expectation.  Help that helps from the heart.  Help that helps just like my Dad would. 

To everyone I unintentionally offended during my panic, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it the way you took it.  Know that The Knight got it worse than any of you. 

And he stuck by me. 

In fact, he increased his participation, understanding the actual situation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When God winks at you, be prepared.  Be prepared for your fondest and most deeply held wishes – the ones you’ve had since you were a child and slowly gave up on as Life progressed – to be granted.  Be prepared for all of that stuff you half-heartedly agree to during service on Sundays to be displayed right before your very eyes in the most beautiful way possible.  Be prepared to be shocked and awed.  Be prepared to have your brain reformatted.  Be prepared to fall in love with a situation you DESPISE because God uses it to give you your heart’s desire.

The Knight

Most people know that I’d rather have a simultaneous root canal, mammogram, and colonoscopy than ask for help.  I don’t like feeling vulnerable and I don’t like relying on others – my experience with both is not something I’d like to repeat. 

Since my Dad died and the bank seized all of his liquid assets and will not release them, all I’ve been doing is asking people for help.  I’m even saying please.

I’m experiencing a whole new level of shock and awe as people sort-of-politely refuse, stating “You’re taken care of now; I don’t need to help you.”  Or my other favorite, “You’re smart enough; you’ll figure it out.”

Wow.  Just WOW.

And not all of my requests are for money.

This from the mouths of people for whom I’ve spent years bending over backwards to oblige. 

I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t totally desperate.  I wouldn’t be asking if I had anywhere else to go. 

And then out of the blue (as his fashion), The Knight rode back into my vibration and saved the day. 

Just like that. 

Just like the last time.

Just like the last time, he gave me hope 10 minutes after the last drop dried up.

And it all starts with hope.

Orphan

It’s been a month since my Grief Breakdown; now the sheer panic borne of my primal abandonment issues has bubbled up, out, and over. 

First, I would like to publicly acknowledge and THANK all those who have sat with me through my wailing “PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME” moments of late.  At least Spirit has directed me to be in those moments with people who understand (1) my tendency for delayed reaction; and (2) that’s really what I wanted to say to my Dad during those last 40 hours.

So now I’m in a phase where big squeaky weeping happens throughout a conversation.  I’m starting to share the details of my time in California and as I do, I realize I am processing for the first time the miraculous.  The human brain is not constructed to linearly comprehend miracles; it just isn’t.  It’s constructed to accept miracles, but not understand them.

Personally, the only way I can achieve peace in a difficult situation is by understanding it.  I will work and think and analyze and gather data and ask questions and pray and meditate and vibrate and occasionally call on my Gypsy Grandma to help me understand a situation so I can make it my bitch and be done with it.

I’m not sure how much more my physical body can take.  These moments of realization are filled with so much joy and grief in the same moment that all I can do to work the energy out of my body is that squeaky weeping. 

You know my eyes leak on a regular basis over the poignancy of Life but this, this weeping…I’ve never experienced anything like it.  Just like everything else in my life is at a whole new level, so is the eye leaking. 

Since I’ve been home, I’ve purposefully avoided acquaintances, remembering quite clearly from when my Mama died the human tendency to say the worst possible thing ever to a grieving person.  I don’t have the emotional fortitude to be in my own storm and also weather someone else’s.  Having once endured the “Now you’re an orphan” comment, I will not again.

Second, I’m STUNNED over the offense acquaintances are taking over my unavailability.  I’ve been home over two months and not one of these “friends” has offered tea or sympathy or comfort or kindness or a meal.  They have all expressed “hurt” over *my* lack of being there for them.  How can they not understand my whole existence changed and it’s taking everything I have (plus 10%) to adjust?  God forbid someone offer help rather than demand it.

The Doctor is Out and she may never come back:  (1) She didn’t want to be a psychologist in the first place; and (2) She wasn’t really into the free counseling business.  She’s a lifelong people pleaser who’s trying to put herself first, before strangers who don’t have the common sense or courtesy or decency to realize she’s in need.

In other words, I used up every single ounce of my mojo being there for my Dad.  I am an empty vessel in need of filling, not more draining.

Semper Fi!

I had my Grief Breakdown yesterday morning, 28 days after the fact.  

At least I was in church.

When I was in CA, it was mostly my stubborn nature that helped me keep it together.  People around me decompensated in the most horrendous of ways (WHO CALLS THE CHURCH AND ASKS THAT THE FUNERAL MASS START 20 MINUTES LATE SO A TIE CAN BE FOUND?) and I was *DETERMINED* to not let buffoonery get in the way of honoring my Father.

I AM the Queen of Delayed Reaction, one of the many things I learned from my Warrior Father.  “If you’re going through hell, keep going,” which is why and how I can soldier through the most horrendous of situations…and have a nervous breakdown months later and miles away in a completely unrelated situation.  Some call it “severe PTSD”; I (and my Father) call it “survival.” 

The afternoon of January 21, I came back from doing errands for my Father to find him unconscious and unresponsive in his room at his care facility.  Code blue; ride in the ambulance to the ER at the Catholic hospital where I was born and my Mama died.  Mind you, I am the last of my branch of The Cliffords, so every decision and responsibility from here on out is mine and mine alone. 

My Dad was intubated and he came back to me.  He was restrained because he kept trying to take out the breathing tube.  He always told me he didn’t want “the paddles,” but his answer to every other medical intervention was “yes.”  I tore myself up over ordering him to be intubated because I *KNOW* how much he hates it.  But it wasn’t the paddles, so…

When it was time to put a tube in his nose to feed him, he refused.  He was awake and conscious and aware and cognizant and I was right in his face, reading it and his eyes and his whole demeanor so I could understand what he really wanted. 

“Daddy, do you know what this means?” I asked him.

He nodded.

And then his whole face contorted and that Marine who did a year and a half in a POW camp in Korea began to sob like I’ve never seen before.  He held my hand and squeezed it so hard I heard him speak in my heart.

“I know, Baby,” he said.  “I’m so sorry; I just can’t do it.”.

He wasn’t crying because of all the pain and discomfort; he was crying because he knew he was breaking my heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yes, I always knew my Dad was my guy, but I honestly did not know the depth and breadth and extent of his True Love for me until that moment.  And still…it wasn’t until The Preacher told me it was True Love that I could accept it.

Sometimes my stubborn nature works against me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Despite all that, I was still hopeful that somehow, my Dad would recover.  It was my decision whether or not to take the tube out and I certainly did not want to make the wrong one.  I’ve made many decisions in my 50 years, but this one is the only that has EVER mattered.  I couldn’t get a grip on where we were and how to get out of it.  For the first time in my life, I faced a path separate from my Dad.

I struggled for a few brutal hours, watching all of the monitors, watching my Dad breathe.  Finally, I laid my head on his chest and told him, “Daddy.  I don’t know what to do.”

He nodded and squeezed my hand.

Just before dawn, I told my Dad I needed some air and went out for a drive in his car.  I drove to my hotel and back and, when I returned to the hospital, my internal guidance system found its route. 

Before I left, my Dad’s kidneys were failing and he wasn’t receiving nourishment.  That’s two systems failing.  My criteria for ordering his breathing tube out was three (my lucky number) systems failing.  Upon my return, his blood was coagulating.  A third system was failing. 

I took his hand in mine. 

“Daddy.  I think it’s time.  Am I making the right decision?”

He squeezed my hand three times:  Once for me; once for my Mama; and once for him.  That was always our code.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Before the tube came out, I called my Dad’s Beloveds so they could say “Goodbye.”  I could tell from his expression he heard everything.  He cried when his best friend – another Marine – broke down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When there were no words left, I ordered the tube out and turned on the music.  My Dad was surrounded by the Three Loves who stood by him through it all:  Myself, Olivia, and Danielle.  We jazzed that soldier right back into my Mama’s waiting arms.

My Beloved Father passed away at 2:13 p.m. on January 22, 2017.