I have been working on a post for a while now about what it is like to share my home with my husband and my boyfriend (spoiler, it’s awesome) but the writing hasn’t been going well. This is something awkward when you fancy yourself to be a “writer type”. But this week the wheels really came off.
You know I have mental health issue, more specifically anxiety and depression. I take each day and they come and until recently I have actually had more good days than bad. However the last week or so I have been perilously close to the precipice of relapse. I have been stressed with family stuff. I haven’t been doing great at taking care of myself so sleeping and eating are a hot mess. But something happened yesterday that has just has just left me spun out, used up, and speeeent!
My sister in law sent me the above picture. It was sent to her by an auntie who lives in NB. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. It was just a heads up that a project we planned, that we signed off on, that we KNEW was coming, had started. The house was being torn down. I think I am going to be sick. Dad’s house. The trailer. It’s destroyed. Gone. One more part of my father in law, Pops, Pere, Dad… is gone forever. He’s died a little more, again.
This house was a wreck. It was a mess. I wanted to kick it in the delicate parts. But also it was Dad’s house. It’s where he made me my favourite breakfast. It was where we watched movies and hockey games and a papal conclave. It was where I took Lulu the day before she died so she could have one last cuddle with her Grampy. It was a magic place of endless snacks and books. It was the last place I saw him. And there is a part of my heart which engages in magical thinking believing he will somehow come back there.
My heart is broken all over again. I feel like a wound that has JUST started to scab over has been cracked wide open. I knew it was coming but I guess there is just no way to avoid the pain. I know that time will heal my heart but it seems like on that clock, time is running very very slowly.