Just Exhale

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

TV is based on a script. The lines spoken, the clothes worn, the good, the bad… and the heartbreak. It is all written down, rehearsed, and then repeated until it gives you that feeling of connection. The words have to mean something to each viewer or the show won’t last. No matter what we watch, we connect somehow. I truly believe this is because all scripts come from a place within where each and every word has a deeper meaning. Romances gone wrong. Friendships that grew into a love so big it seems like a fairytale. Truly, everything is real.

I connect to just about any and all shows or movies about parenthood. Being a mom is beyond hard most days. I feel like I can’t do anything right sometimes. What isn’t real, is the beautiful, spotless, always clean house. If your home is that clean, then you must fly to keep dirt off the floors or, to be totally honest, you just don’t have kids. My girls aren’t even home tonight and my house is a mess. Why not just clean up since they are gone? Why not take this time to organize all their toys and coloring things and clothes? Because the real truth of being a parent with a free night is sitting down on the couch, watching TV, and doing nothing. Nothing is the best thing to do on these nights. I just sit here. Watching whatever I want and not having to explain things; eating whatever I want without having to share; and looking around at my mess and smiling because I miss my obnoxious kids.

I connect to shows on a very, very deep level, that sometimes I can’t even explain… especially when the dad dies. Not a single detail surrounding the death matters other than the loss of a father. One of my more recent anxiety attacks came after a Grey’s Anatomy episode in which a man had a very serious brain injury due to an accident of some sort. As I grieved the unknowns of his outcome with his TV family, I began to build up a deep anger inside of me as his outcome changed. He had the greatest neurosurgeon working on him and like always, Dr. McDreamy was the hero. To everyone but me. I knew that this was a show. It was drama, meant to captivate the audience. The episode did everything for me the writer and director hoped it would. They couldn’t anticipate the numbness deep within my bones rising up and despite all of the emotions I was feeling, I couldn’t turn it off.

I’ve been watching This Is Us from the beginning. Everything about this show is captivating. We, as the audience, dream about love. Maybe we have that love, maybe we know someone we cherish with that love. Regardless, we dream about it and we feel every emotion right along with Jack and Rebecca. We experience the rollercoaster of having siblings all over again. I remember as a kid being told that someday I would like my brothers and I still shake my head, roll my eyes and laugh at that. Truly though, life without my brothers would not be the same. The show got serious for me when Kate began her relationship with Toby and their talks and dreams of their own wedding day.

If I got one to pick one moment to relive with my dad, it would be the moments leading up to him walking me down the aisle on my wedding day. When he walked into the room I was waiting in, he started crying when he saw my cousin and he couldn’t even see me. He asked me if I was ready knowing that he was not. Then we walked down the hallway and stood outside the doors of the church. I can see his face when I close my eyes. He was so proud to be there beside me as we went step by step towards my soon to be husband. When the pastor asked, “who gives away this woman?” you could hear his voice choke up as my parents responded, “we do.” Of all the memories I cherish with my dad, this one is the cherry on top.

Watching Kate struggle knowing she will never have that moment is really hard for me. I instantly feel anxious wondering how things would have been different had we waited till after the baby was born to get married. My heart aches knowing that our dad was not there to see my little brother get married and I know he would have cried like a baby at that wedding too. I often wonder if he had died before I got married, if his absence would have stopped me completely. It just would not have been complete. It would not have been my dream day no matter what else happened.

“If you don’t allow yourself to grieve, it will be like taking a deep breath and just holding it there.”

I think that I have been holding my breath for nearly eight years. My lungs hurt. My chest hurts. My body aches all over. I feel the overwhelming need to let the air out, but I can’t do it. What if I exhale and the memories go to? What if I exhale and things don’t get easier? I am stuck here, but I have comfort from the memories. Stuck but yet I can breathe a little; enough to survive on right now. I’m stuck here because I’m afraid I might disappoint him.

Daddy's Girl

I’m one of three kids and I’m stuck in the middle of two brothers. Growing up, I very well could have done just about anything I wanted and gotten away with it. My dad would take me into his room and whisper to me that he was going to spank me so I better yell so my brothers could hear, then he would smack the bed and my brothers would giggle and run away happy I had been punished. Those days were always followed by a big hug which was the perfect reminder of just how much he loved me. I know he loved my brothers, but they could look at me wrong and get grounded; clearly, I was the favorite.

As a little girl, some of my fondest memories include my dad waking me up as he returned home from work in the early morning hours to take me out to breakfast. We had our favorite little spot just up the road and it was amazing every time. Dad and I always celebrated “take your daughter to work day” as well. For many years he drove trucks and when I was finally old enough, I loved riding along with him on a route. He used to tell me how much I complained about being bored, but I remember just being there and it was awesome. When I got a little older, he was teaching truck driving for a community college. Classes were held at the Veteran’s Facility and I absolutely loved to roam those halls.

I think it is safe to say that I got my emotions from my dad. I witnessed him go from one feeling to the next and then another on many, many occasions. I saw anger, joy, love, happiness, and pride from him probably every day. I feel that most of the time I was able to actually understand those emotions, he was a pretty honest guy. Tossed in to all of his daily emotions, my dad was also an alcoholic.

             

As a parent myself, I can literally find stress in just about any circumstance. I’m not going to say that those stresses are an excuse to drink heavily or become verbally abusive, but I do understand just how easily small stresses can add up until it feels like we are about to blow up. A ticking bomb.

Growing up, my brothers and I all played baseball. Dad loved it and he was always coaching or umpiring for all of our games. I think that softball was where he drew the line with his little princess (me). He loved the sport, and he loved to see me learn and excel, but he hated watching my softball games. They were long and quite uneventful most games. I’m pretty certain I got my competitiveness from him as well, or at least my need to make my own kids more aggressive in their prospective sports. If anything I did brought out every emotion on his spectrum, it was softball. Regardless, he was there. He watched my games, he cheered me on, he threatened the umpires to defend me!

              

Oh man am I drawn to dramatic events. My twentieth birthday comes to mind first. I was finally out of my “teens” and my life was anything but calm. We gathered around the table at home and as we ate and laughed away, there was a nagging moment waiting to happen. A moment I had been dreading for a few weeks but there was simply no way to avoid it. I looked at Shayne and braced myself as he told my parents that we were going to have a baby, out of wedlock. We waited.

             

My mom was standing behind us, he back against the wall. I could feel the anger as she likely glared at the back of our heads. There was nothing telling me to turn around and look at her. My brother yelled from the other room, “I knew it!” and I’m sure that just fueled the fire. I watched my dad as he processed the news and then he threw his hands up and questioned, “I’m going to be a grandpa!?” His excitement was immediately halted as he met mom’s eyes and he sat back down asking her, “are we not supposed to be excited?” That night was over ten years ago now and I still laugh out loud when I think about it. His joy was not going to be taken away from him. I loved that moment.

              

Dad’s reaction is one of my favorite things about him. He loved the thought of me growing up and becoming a mom. He loved even more the idea of becoming a grandpa. When we found out we were having a girl his excitement only grew. He was constantly calling me to check in on his grand-baby; not me, but the little human he couldn’t wait to meet. The night she was born, I called him to let him know we were going to go the hospital to get checked out because I had no idea what was happening. I told him we didn’t know anything but would call as soon as we did. He beat me to the hospital. He didn’t care if she wasn’t coming that night, he was not going to miss a moment regardless.

              

When Amaylie was finally born, our family gathered around to meet her and soak in the glory of God through a new life. As my dad held her for the first time and his tears fell, I felt more like his little girl than I ever had. What I would give to be in that moment again. How I wish I could have shared that moment with him at the birth of Jordyn and Kaylee.