What I learn in puddles….

Sorry readers, this post is a long one.

There have been too many times to count during my recovery when I found myself sitting in a mud puddle of overwhelming emotions feeling “frozen” and incapable of not just moving forward emotionally, but literally physically.

Today is two years since the final episode of not only the hardest thing I ever did in my recovery, but also my life. Two years ago my Dad spent four months in hospice care prior to passing on July 24. He was in care where he lived so I travelled 9 hours (4.5 hours each way) every single weekend for four months to sit with him for a couple of hours. The only weekend I missed was when I had COVID and could not go to the Hospice Home.

I was ill prepared for that journey. However, I imagine that we all are ill prepared for the passing of our hero. I was my Daddy’s girl. I was his mechanic helper, and his summer job helper, and at times in his life his strength to keep moving forward. He was always a constant in my life.

Even with lifey shit got in the way, I knew that no matter what, he would be there for me. Until he wasn’t anymore.

The very first trip home after seeing him and facing the realization of where this part of my journey was going to be going, I got scared. I started to panic. How would I possibly maneuver through the lifequake of my dad dying without my escape of gambling?

Up to that time in my recovery, I had been through a lot. Ejection from my life, losing my home, job, friends, community, going through divorce, moving again, new relationship, new jobs etc. All that seemed like a swat at a mosquito compared to watching someone who was truly my hero live their last few weeks of life.

At a few months from my three year recovery milestone, I had to figure it out because I had not come that damn far to only come that damn far. After the realization set in about the start of the roller coaster, I became doggedly determined to figure out how to do this. As I believe that everything in my recovery life is based on choices, I started there.

Choice to be honest – with myself and those closest to me

I sat across the counter from my husband who truly is my most amazing partner in all that I do. I told him I was scared. I told him that of everything I had been through so far, this would be the hardest thing I had done yet. I was truly scared to my core that this would cause me to look back to that emotional escape of gambling. I was scared that it would take me out at the knees.

Choice to listen – to people wiser than myself

I was honest with my home GA Group about the path that was starting for me. I listened to advice from those with more time than me about how they had dealt with such lifequakes. I listened when they assured me that I had a strong enough recovery that I just needed to trust my instincts and stay close to my program.

Choice to connect – with all those “safe” people and spaces

I made a conscious effort to attend more meetings and make more connections and listen to more advice. I kept connected at least on a daily basis to members of my home group and others from others groups I was attending. During those four months, I was so grateful to just be able to send a “soul emptying” text about what was currently happening to trusted mentors. Sometimes I didn’t even get a reply, because they knew that I wasn’t looking for an answer, I just needed a safe space to put all those feelings that was not inside of me.

Choice to focus on the important – others outside myself

Family dynamics are never easy to work through in situations like this, and can actually be very distracting. My dad’s wife I believe was suffering mental health issues because I cannot believe that anyone who was not would purposely put my daughter and I through the stress, conflict and bullshit that she did.

My daughter and I decided when Dad went into the hospital that our focus was on his final time on earth being filled with nothing but love, treats, and peace. Our focus was him and what was best for him coming from a place of extreme love for the man.

Two goals reached – finally I felt like I could breathe

On July 23, 2020, we arrived at Dad’s bedside. He had been declining for a couple of days and had not been awake in that time. We held Dad’s hand for hours for the last time and told him a bazillion times how much we loved him and would miss him forever. There was an amazing miraculous moment when Dad opened his eyes and looked at my daughter and smiled at her as if to tell her that everything would be ok. We sat with him for many hours, just talking to him and sharing life with him as he approached ever closer to death.

At 9:30 pm his breathing had become so much more laboured. We had watched it decline for a few hours. I spoke to the nurse and she felt that he would not pass until the next day and said she would call if something happened during the night. We gave Dad hugs and kisses and left him with all the love we had to give and the promise that we would be there at 6 am.

On the ride to the hotel, my daughter looked at me and said, “Mom, he’s not going to go with us there. He would never do that to us. You know that we just talked to him for the last time, don’t you?”

Unfortunately I agreed with her. I felt that his time was very short and we were holding him back. Yet, I set the ringtone on my phone to the most obnoxious one I had so I would not miss the call. My phone had been off in the hospice, so I turned it on and we tried to get some sleep.

I woke up at 5:00 am on July 24 and looked at my phone. There were missed calls from the hospice between 11:30 pm and 1:00 am. How could that be? How could we both have slept through that ringtone? I called the hospice and Dad had indeed passed at 12:10 am. Just over two hours after we left him. I looked at my phone and the little switch hadn’t flipped all the way and the sound was still shut off.

Guilt flooded through me until my daughter said, “Mom, we were never meant to be there. He didn’t want us there, and the universe just helped him have one more last wish before he left.” (Sidenote: I love my amazing, wise daughter to the moon and back. I could not have done this without her).

One month and two days after Dad passed, I celebrated, with great pride my three year milestone. I felt like I had worked harder for that milestone than all my others combined. I learned so much, and continue to learn so much.

Last year, at the one year anniversary of Dad’s passing, I honored him with loving thoughts, but the emotion was not as strong as this year. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I am feeling just super emotional about my upcoming milestone and have such gratitude for my journey.

2025 – Two year anniversary – Five year milestone

For a week now, my bus passengers have been running all over the place creating havoc. If you don’t know the reference, see my post about “who’s driving my bus.”

Yesterday, I found myself here

I found myself sitting in my very own mud puddle pity party with all my emotional passengers not only driving my bus all over the place, but throwing mud at me.

“Well,” I said to myself, “this is a fine mucky mess you have gotten yourself into, isn’t it?”

As I am a big believer in feeling the feels, and a pity party is ok, as long as it has a start and a beginning. So I set a time for 30 minutes and allowed myself to feel sorry for myself knowing I had a time limit. I sat in the puddle, even threw some mud back at Guilt and Shame, because they really had no place being out of the bus never mind taking active part in the mudding.

Timer went off at 30 minutes, I got up, made a cup of tea, put everyone back in their seats on the bus and buckled them in.

I practiced some honest communication with my husband and sent him a text at work letting him know that I was experiencing an emotional day and the reason why so he was “warned” prior to arrival home.

I practiced connection by texting with and meeting online my “tribe” that supports me.

I practiced self love by doing something that I love doing. I showed up in a meeting space even though I didn’t feel like going to a meeting. It was exactly where I needed to be and I heard exactly what I needed to hear.

I try to live a life in recovery of gratitude, so today I have gratitude:

• Thank you Dad for teaching me so many life lessons about determination, hard work, and respect
• Thank you Dad for always loving me no matter what.
• Thank you for your support and I have such gratitude that you saw me find recovery and a new, better life
• Thank you universe for all the lessons that this life experience taught me and continues to teach me
• Thank you universe for allowing me the experience to show up in all these moments