Itās been a high stress couple of weeks but Iām beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I was feeling overwhelmed to the point of depression and now I think Iām finally treading water again.
Iāve sorted my money situation, I think. I reevaluated my budget, revised my payment strategy, and I should be out of this hole Iāve dug by summerās end. It just meant cutting back on some of the things Iām able to do this summer and delaying some cosplay and convention aspirations till next year. But thatās ok, itās necessary, and I feel good about it. So thatās one cinder block off my chest.
Iāve made a ton of progress on my WIP. Part three ended up being about 50 pages and itās a few solid hours of work away from being totally finished. That will put me at 150 finished pages or about 50,000 words. I have 25,000 words in the partial parts five and six to go over and add to in the coming months. It’s looking like the finished product will be around 90k. (for comparisonās sake, the first Harry Potter was 76,944 words) So that means Iām officially over half-way done and Iām honestly pretty proud. Iāve never had a writing project so close to completion. And at this pace, I know I can finish it this year. Plus I just got some positive/constructive feedback from my favorite beta reader and that put some wind back in my sails.
Now all I have to do is make it through this Sunday. Sunday is my Dadās memorial and it has been gnawing away at me for months.
My father passed at the end of April after a long and ghastly sickness. Born with a hereditary kidney disease, my Dadās had poor health all his life. He was in and out of hospitals since I was a baby, so itās something I was used to- it never affected his spirit and he brushed off each incident, his personality unaffected. About five or six years ago, he moved south to be with his long-time partner (basically his second wife though they never had a ceremony) and my young half-sister. She had moved back home to be close to her own family, which made sense. I know he felt like he was abandoning my brother and I, and as hard as it was to be so far away from him, I believed he was making the best decision both for himself and his daughter.
And then he got sicker. About two years ago he got into a car accident and began behaving strangely. We didnāt know it at the time, but it was the first signs of vascular dementia- brain damage caused by the lack of blood flow and multiple mini-strokes, which were side effects of his kidney disease and the treatment involved. The only way I can describe it isā¦ itās like my Dad began to fade. Every time I saw him or spoke to him he was a little bit less himself. And it utterly dismantled me. My father has been a pillar in my life, an unshakeable force, a constant. I was terrified of talking to him, I dreaded visiting him. I couldnāt stand to see what was happening to him. And he only got sicker, his body failing just as quickly as his mind. He ended up in a nursing home, which was a relief in some ways, knowing he was safe and surrounded by those best suited to care for him. And it was awful. My brother and I would drive down and visit once a month, about 8 hours in the car round trip. Iād get so sick to my stomach seeing him that way, Iād barely eat the whole weekend. He had gotten so bad, he didnāt even recognize us the last time we visited. So it was almost a mercy when he passed, but still my heart feels shattered.
The way I deal with this kind of grief is to squirrel away- to be alone with the things and people Iām close to. I do not like to put my sorrow on display. I do not know how to deal with both my feelings and strangers at the same time- Iām too introverted and too awkward to do both. So planning this memorial, as simple and casual as weāre making it, has still been trying. I donāt know my dadās partner or her family all that well- I lived mostly with my mom as a kid, so we never got super close. That makes planning the event an emotional tightrope of trying to take care of as much as I can and constantly feeling like Iām overstepping my bounds. Plus I havenāt been to many funerals (only one as an adult) and though this isnāt really a funeral, per se, I still feel like I donāt know what Iām doing. I worry that I wonāt be prepared, that I wonāt know what to do or say when I get there. I realize, as many have reminded me, that there isnāt much for me to do beyond receive those that want to come say hello and be myself, but still I feel lacking. So though I know logically that the event will go fine, I canāt wait for it to be over, for the relief of knowing I can move on and deal with my grief privately. I know itās not the right way, bottling stuff up like this, but itās my way and I canāt imagine Iāll be changing anytime soon.
And weāre almost there. I read something this week that, oddly, gave me such peace of mind: Lifeās too short to give a shit. Don’t laugh- I know it’s crass but it honestly made me stop and take stock of what I was worrying about. It sounds like something my dad would say. My dad is gone; heās at rest. All this other bologna doesnāt really matter. I know Iām doing the best I can, and thatās all that counts. Whatever happens, happens, and I need to disengage and keep on moving. Itāll be all right.
S. Willis 