two years.

I suppose it’s rare to point to a single day on a calendar and be able to say “that’s the day my life changed forever.”  It’s probably even more rare to be offered your dream job mere hours before saying goodbye to your father for the last time.

So much has happened in the last two years, and as I reread last year’s post about today, I couldn’t believe it’s been a whole year already.  2012 flew by so quickly that I haven’t quite grasped that it’s over yet.  If 2011 was the year I started over, 2012 was the year I settled in.  Baltimore feels like home now, just like it’s hard to remember what life without Little Missy was like. 

During that first year after Daddy died, I felt like all I was trying to do was survive.  Comprehend the loss while starting a new and overwhelming career.  Not kill anyone while being surrounded by the reminders of his absence.  It was a year of debridement- cleaning all of the crap out of the wound, which happens to be the most painful part of the healing process when it comes to literal wounds.  So I pushed through the worst of days by reminding myself that it would get better, and the pain wasn’t for nothing.

This year, the pink tissue started to shine through.  (sorry for taking my wound analogy so far, but I think it’s an interestingly accurate representation of the process- physical and emotional healing aren’t so different after all)  There were times when I still faced a little debridement- like in the fall when it finally hit me (like a ton of bricks) that I’d never get to see my father again- but all in all, the healthy tissue was beginning to take over.

On this day last year, I went to the salon by my house and tried to distract myself from the date and what it meant to me.  3 hours, $200 and some invisible highlights later, I was more annoyed and still hurting.  Today, I met with a realtor to discuss the home-buying process and begin looking at properties in my desired area.  Both feel like good ways to honor my father, who sometimes spent too much money on himself when he didn’t need to, and has also allowed me to be in a position where at 25, I can buy my own house- with great credit and the money for a down payment.

Another thing this year has taught me is how much more involved the dying process is than I originally thought.  This year I said goodbye to three of my favorite patients, and one of my favorite grandfathers.  On Tuesday, I went to the viewing of one of my patients who passed away from Cystic Fibrosis a week ago.  As one of his primary nurses, I’d been caring for him almost exclusively for the last month or so, and I found myself even more grateful for Dad’s attitude and sense of humor as he dealt with his own death, and what that meant for the people he loved.  I found myself angry with my patient’s family, who simply refused to admit that he was dying, because I knew how special those last few weeks could be.  I still think about those last memories we made with Daddy all the time, and I wanted this family to be able to do that too.  I realize that it is probably a lot harder to saying goodbye to someone who is only twenty, but it made me sad that he didn’t get to have the good times Dad did as he reminisced with his friends and talked to each one of us.   I realized that a “good” experience of the dying process depends on the ability of not only the family to cope with the impending loss, but also how “at peace” the person is with their own death.  There’s no doubt in my mind that Dad didn’t want to die when he did, but it was also very clear that from the day he was diagnosed, he was determined not to let his prognosis ruin his life, or hinder that of those who loved him.  For that, I find myself growing more appreciative every day.

There are many days I’m still angry he’s gone.  When I get to play with Little Missy as she climbs all over the house or runs down the aisles of the store, I’m angry he doesn’t get to tickle her til she cries or spoil her with Ducks gear.  When I get to hold the Little Man for the very first time, my heart is conflicted by love and sadness that he doesn’t get to do it too.  I know life’s not fair, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a little mad about it.

Year two was a little bit easier and a little bit harder.  I hate that each new day means I’m one day further from my last hug, but grateful for the new healthy tissue that is evidence that healing has begun.  I imagine that as time moves on, this process continues.  I have a lot of big things going on in my life right now, and year three looks like it’s going to be a big one for this Chambers and her venture into adulthood.

Speaking of which, I should get back to working on my pre-approval.  And by that I mean looking at furniture to put in the house I haven’t bought yet.

I miss you, Daddy.  Every day and every time I take another step into adulthood.  I’m grateful for the lessons you taught me in those last weeks, even if I wish I could have learned them any other way.

Thanks, Sissy, for finding this gem and sharing it with me today.