This is a blog. About grief. A glog.

This is a blog. About grief. A glog.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Antonia's Patented Guaranteed-To-Result-in-Emotional-Faltering Guide to Grieving Part 1

Well, I guess I'm feeling tired. This commitment to write about my feelings seems to be a step in the right direction, so my first impulse is to celebrate with finally getting to bed. But that's really not all that helpful.

So I'll start with Antonia's Patented Guaranteed-To-Result-in-Emotional-Faltering Guide to Grieving:

1. Start with a lovely childhood. Perhaps an idyllic moment or two of emotional connection.

Ex: When I was 8 (wild guess), I was reading a favorite book of mine at my grandparents. (About kid detectives with a treehouse or something, if I recall.) The cover illustration on the paperback was separating from the paper and flaking off as I read, and after a while it really started to bug me. (Besides, I seem to have an intense pack-ratting tendency and can't help wanting to preserve things. Do try not to let me get carried away if you set me free in your pantry. You'll have canned goods to bequeath to your children.) Anyway, I found some clear tape and proceeded to laminate the peeling section, strip by strip. My Dad walked into the kitchen and after watching me for a few moments, said, "Antonia, someday, you're going to be a great dad." Proudest moment of my life. Well one of the proudest.

*bling* *shing* *phlew* REFLECTION FROM THE PRESENT *sing* *splay *schink*
(Yeah, this section definitely needs sound effects.)
This is one of my strongest memories of my father. His total approval of what I was doing and my life-long tendency to gerry-rig (sorry, can't think of better word) together diy solutions out of tape and cardboard made me feel so secure, so proud, so accepted. When I think of the fathering that I missed, this is the ideal. I guess I'm imbuing it with an implication that he would have taught me to make anything I wanted out of wood and more buildery materials, too, because I always wanted a father figure to teach me to make that kinda stuff. Then I could gerry-rig stuff from tape, carboard and plywood! But yeah. I can't help but think, "what would I have learned from him?" "What skills would he have taught me" (Definitely how to sail 16-ft Hobie Cat sailboats.) I feel selfish for thinking about what I would have gotten or learned, but I also can't help but think, "well. I would have!" Sometimes a lot of the pain I feel now is kind of centered on knowing that life could have been different, but isn't.

Don't get me wrong. This whole glog. The fact that I quit school. It's all so I can learn to accept and practice peacefulness. I'm not trying to recreate anything here. I'm just saying, that's what I'm sad about. And. Well. I'm trying to own up to my right to have that feeling. Whew. Ok.

2. Have object of emotional connection die. (By the way, I can't stand saying my Dad passed on. Or is no longer with us. What a load of crap. I think I 'll write about this in a later post.)

To Be Continued....

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