The title of this post is also my Facebook status message for today. A friend from college asked if it was another poem. Not this time. But she doesn't know why I posted that. Other people who don't know might ask if it's some sort of plea to an ex-lover or something. No, I don't really do that anymore (for if they leave I'd rather them stay gone).
I haven't told about 85% of my friends that my dad died one month ago. It's not that I don't want them to know. I'm not embarrassed. But I am always such a happy person, I feel like people count on that, and I really don't want to bring my sad news into the mix. Plus, there's no way for me to know that I won't start crying. I almost did that with one friend when we were having lunch and talking about dad. I'm also not sure if people will be able to handle it. I told MC and not 10 seconds later she asked me "Well.....Are you at least getting laid?" I realize she's one of those people who's never experienced death, so she wouldn't know what to say. She's also one of those people who thinks that fucking some random guy will fix everything. But I digress....
The time gaps between crying fits are getting longer every day, and that's how I know that I'm getting through this. My mom said that she thinks I'm being very strong with this and that she's proud of me, which is really something because it takes a lot for her to tell me she's proud of me. That's the other way I know. But I still do silly things. I call him, only half-realizing that he won't be picking up, and only remembering that I had his phone shut off after the recording does its thing 3 times. I have to write letters to friends and family (only 2 members remain) to tell them that daddy's dead. I was having trouble finding an address for our cousin Sister, so I decided to call daddy and ask. It took me a while to remember that he's the reason I have to write these letters to these people in the first place. I went to my exercise class on Tuesday night, and when I thought of daddy looking down at me from heaven, scotch and soda in hand and laughing hysterically as I sweat and cursed the instructor, I started to cry. In the middle of class. And I'm not good with embarrassment. But he would have said "Awwww, pumpkin, you look cute jumping around like that."
I still walk around not really seeing or noticing anything but my shuffling feet. When I hang out with friends, I have a hard time paying attention to what they're telling me and often have to ask them to repeat themselves. Work takes all the energy I have right now, because here, I have no choice BUT to be coherent. Everyone's been really nice and understanding, but there's only so much slack they can give me. And there's only so much sympathy I can take. At the end of the day, I am drained.
On the other hand, I can now make it through an entire Blossom Dearie song, as well as Thelonious Monk, as long as it's a short piece, without bawling. Still can't do "April in Paris" or "The Man I Love" (original or with Miles Davis). Those are a tad longer than usual. I'm hoping to take a Boot Camp class three times a week in March. I'm sure it'll give me back some energy, and give me some drive to switch my eating habits back to what they were when I first took Boot Camp. I've been ODing on sugar since daddy died. Not because it makes me feel any better, but because I stopped giving a shit about a lot of things.
Really, I just want to close the shades, turn off all the lights, watch sad movies, drink bottles of scotch and have absolutely no contact with the outside world, save only for a few friends who are close to me and who have been very supportive. And I'll thank them one day, as soon as I can do it without crying. My consolations are these good friends: JT, AJ, Khi, JM, and poor DG, who leaves my house with his t-shirt soaked with tears every time. I don't really care to talk to anyone else but these people and my mother. I had to push myself hard to go to AJ's birthday karaoke last week (I wouldn't have gone for anyone else, though). On certain days I will say that work saves me, because I'd be a hermit without it, and it would be 50 times harder for me to get out of my haze.
Daddy would disapprove of this, of course. He would say, "Come on Maria!!!! Run yo' feets!!!! Hop to it!!!!" And that's what I hear in the morning, and that's what gets me out of bed. All he wanted was for me to get the best out of life. He never pressured me to be a certain thing, like a doctor or whatever. He just wanted me to be happy, smart and practical. I joined this group on facebook yesterday for people whose fathers are dead. The question of the day: "Who do you get your advice from now?" My answer: No one. I never asked daddy for advice. But he would let me know if I was wrong as well as if I was right. He gave me his values. And that's how he shaped me into who I am today. No one else's opinion really counts for me. It seldom did. It was all about daddy. And I thank God He left him around for as long as He did. Now I just have to learn to live until I see daddy again.