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Guppy Talks Grief at WLP

October 25, 2012

As some of you may know, before mom died I had started reviewing contemporary romance books over at WickedLilPixie for my friend Nat. Nat and I lost our moms within days of each other. It’s amazing how something that traumatic could bring about such a wonderful source of comfort.

I wrote about our mutual grief and things people can do or say to help, and you can read my post HEREYou might want to grab a tissue. It seems I’ve made everyone cry. Not my intention! I swear! 

In the meantime, my dad came over for dinner last night and we talked about everything, as we usually do. This morning he called me and we had this conversation:

Dad: How are you doing today?

Me: I’m doing okay, I guesss.

Dad: I’m going to keep calling you every day until you answer “I’m doing GREAT!”

Best. Dad. Ever. He’s been my rock through this entire ordeal. One day I’ll tell the story about getting my mom Last Rites. LOL. Believe it or not, that’s a funny story. ESPECIALLY if you know my dad. 

Lynda the Guppy
aka The Fish With Sticks
aka A Still-Grieving Guppy

• Posted in Blog • Tags: , , | 4 Comments

4 thoughts on “Guppy Talks Grief at WLP

  1. I just finished reading your other post and really appreciate the time you took to explain fully what seems so hard to explain. When my dad was in his last days, I asked a friend to try to tell me what it’s like to lose a parent. He told me “The moment it happens, it’s like an alarm goes off, or a loud buzz, or someone screaming, and that alarm doesn’t stop. Ever.” He was right. It has been years since my dad died (and my grandmother after that, among others), and it takes me zero seconds to go back to that moment when the phone rang and I got the call. Luckily, I can also go back in my mind to the moments sitting on the floor in his bedroom in his last days, knowing now was the time if I had something to say. I can also go back to the nights while visiting, when I slept in the bed next to his in that little bedroom, listening to the oxygen machine click, whir and zzzzz… terrified that every breath was going to be his last. It’s not an easy thing to go through, but I am really really glad I had the chance to do it. When he did die, there were no questions. I know he wasn’t scared, and that he was ready to die. Cancer sucks. It’s really a terrible terrible thing. The alarms are still going off in my mind… I’m still a bit in shock that he’s dead, but I know in my mind that he’s dead. I also know that he isn’t suffering like he was in his last days. One last thing I want to note – My dad knows the answer to the question: “What really happens when you die?” – If there’s a heaven, purgatory, or reincarnation, he has done it. If there’s a place for souls to gather and greet us “on the other side”, he’s waiting there. Your mom is there too. And whatever happens when it’s time for me to die, I will find comfort knowing that others that I love have done it before me. O.K. Maybe I’m a bit strange, but that’s the way I think.

    Your mother was very lucky to have you and you were certainly lucky to have that time with her… and anyone who reads your post is lucky to gain knowledge from your experience. BIG hugs to you, my friend!

    • Thank you, Kyle. And now I’m crying again.

      It IS like a buzzing or an alarm. I still can’t quite believe I can’t pick up the phone and call her or ask her something or get her opinion on anything. What comforts me most is nothing was left unsaid between us. The last words I said to her were ones of love, and she replied in kind. She made me laugh on her last day as only my mother could have, and I will treasure those moments forever.

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