Today I woke up in a grieving space. My friend lost her dog yesterday and that made me think about Gizmo and how I felt when I had to go through that in September. Heartbreak is the only word that describes that feeling for me. As my day went on the emotion ebbed and flowed but I couldn't shake the sadness.
Later I was sorting through stuff in my room. Tossing this, packing that. I picked up some paperwork from when my uncle had passed away. Suddenly, like a wave crashing down, I started to cry. But not about my uncle. Out of absolutely nowhere I thought "My dad died. My dad is dead." For months I've had this uneasy feeling about my dad that I've pushed down. It was bubbling violently to the surface and I couldn't deny the eerie feeling that was engulfing me. He was dead and I knew it.
I emailed my dad's cousin, a really wonderful woman that contacted me over the winter introducing herself for the first time. Her and I had emailed back and forth a bunch since February but I had never worked up the nerve to call her. Today she emailed me back right away asking that I do just that.
I started to cry harder and hit the SEND button with a shaking hand. When she answered my heart tried to jump out of my chest. I sat down on the stairs and took a deep breath.
"He died, didn't he?"
He died in January.
Suddenly every scenario I've ever imagined where I met my dad for the first time vanished. When I was 7 and he was going to show up on the doorstep. When I was 16 and I was running away to California to find him. Two years ago after I talked to him on the phone for the first time and he was picking me up at the airport. Gone.
Body wracking sobs escaped me then.
I think I didn't call her when she first contacted me because I was afraid to hear the bad news that I already knew deep down but was trying to ignore. I'm grateful that she gave me the chance to let myself acknowledge it when I was ready. Or as ready as I ever could be.
There is a lot of grief in my heart and in this house today. I'm going to sleep with the windows open and let the fresh air flood me as I fall asleep, reminding me to breathe.
Ok, so everyone knows about FREE HUGS Mikayla and Wants to Build a Tiny House and Live Amongst the Goats Mikayla. Some of you even know Doesn't Want to Have Kids but Cries When Meeting a Newborn Baby Mikayla, as seen every day this past week. (Shout out to my friends for having babies so that I don't have to. You're the best.)
Well, I'm here to introduce you to WTF Are You Even Talking About Mikayla.
Multifaceted, I know.
I write fictional stories about cyborgs and sorcery when I'm not internet ranting about recycling and renewable resources.
I'm blessed with a lifetime's worth of overactive imagination hooked up to a technicolor projector behind my eyes. Have you seen The Secret Life of Walter Mitty? It's kind of like that. I make up elaborate backstories for passing strangers, imagine alien invasions while I stare out the window, and picture tiny red-hatted garden gnomes fighting a revolution against the lawn guy when he comes to cut the grass. The gnomes win.
If you are my future life partner and you catch me smiling to myself and you lovingly ask "what are you thinking about, dear?" chances are I'm not daydreaming about us holding hands and skipping into the sunset. I'm imagining how well you would stand up as a battle partner when the next wave of oversized chickens, AKA medium-dog-sized dinosaurs, come to take back the planet. I wish I were eggsaggerating.
I guess my point is that when the wise mentor to your main character is the sarcastic love child of Director Fury and Morpheus you're clearly not living with both feet on the ground.
You set out to make an asparagus, broccoli, and cheddar omelet. You're so excited to create this leftover utilizing breakfast masterpiece. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and your eggs are setting perfectly in the pan.
You grab your fancy spatula to flip it over and it completely falls apart. You've failed and now you're loudly swearing at your own incompetence. Your shoulders slump as you scramble it all into a sad mass of ovum and vegetables.
You unceremoniously dump it onto your plate, angrily take the first bite, and realize that it still tastes absolutely amazing ... it just doesn't look like you want it to.
I think that's life. You have this ideal in your head that often isn't exactly met. You make a mess of things and think that you've failed when in reality it's all exactly as it should be if you can let go of your expectations.
Because even when you f*** up you still get delicious scrambled eggs.
#lifelesson #philosophicalbreakfast #idontknowhowtoomelet #thishappensonceaweek