The Loss

Fog. That is the only way I can explain the way life has felt the past three months. My life is clouded with fog, as if I am walking around having a hard time seeing through its thickness. I often feel everyone around me is going through life on a sunny day, and I am stuck trying to escape the never ending fog.

"He's gone."

I can still hear the words ringing in my ears, especially late at night. They make me instantly hot and nauseous even as I write this post. I am often up in the night staring at the ceiling trying my hardest to battle my new friend insomnia. I have never previously had a problem with sleep, but as of late my anxiety keeps me up at night. I never knew that so much anxiety comes along with grief, like a prepackaged deal. Anxiety hits you like a ton of bricks when lounging on couch while thinking you're finally having a good day. It's rare that I have good days since August 11th, 2018. The weight of grief is heavier than I ever expected, as if a bowling ball is sitting on my chest. Every day I am hit with a pang of sadness. The feeling that I may vomit knowing my life will never be the same. The reality that life will always be a little dimmer from here on out. I may have good hours, but good days... those are hard to come by.

My dad passed away 48 hours after the birth of my daughter, Isla Lynn. She was named after my dad, Gregory Lynn. We had planned that our second child would be named after him since our son was named after my husband's father. I had been so nervous about her birth, a planned c-section. It was going to be my second c-section and knowing what to expect this time around made me anxious. "It will be so much easier since it's scheduled," everyone told me when I expressed my anxieties. However, Isla had plans of her own. She decided to turn breech during 37th week gestation, and was delivered early due to her heart rate dropping. I think she knew I needed her to come... I think she knew Pa-paw needed her to come.

The clock on the blank hospital wall started back at me as I tried to make sense of the news I had just received. My sister laid in bed crying next to me, her curly head buried in my shoulder. I felt numb, utterly and completely numb. Life was normal just a few minutes ago, before everything came crumbling down. I was up late nursing my daughter, enjoying my bonding time with her. I was getting ready to send her back to the nursery so I could get some rest when a nurse came in my room.

"Can I talk to you out in the hall?" she asked my husband.

Why did she need to talk to him? He didn't just give birth, I did? What couldn't she say in front of me? Was there something wrong with Isla? Did I do something wrong? Is there something wrong with me? These thoughts rushed through my head as they excited the room. After what seemed like eternity, my husband walked back in and was followed by the nurse.

"What's going on?" I asked feeling sick to my stomach.

My husband kept his head down, saying nothing.

"Your siblings are here," the nurse replied.

Why? I thought. It's almost midnight. What are they doing here this late? My sister and brother entered the hospital room with tears in their eyes, again I asked what was going on. "It's Dad," my sister said through her cries. "He's gone."

My face felt instantly hot, like all the blood had rushed straight to my head.

"What do you mean?" I panicked. "He was just here!"

My dad had came to visit us in the hospital earlier that afternoon. He was proudly wearing a bright green shirt that he had bought at Sams Club (one of his favorite stores). The green color was so blinding you would assume he had just been out directing traffic. I remember wanting to make fun of him for wearing it, but for some reason I decided not to give him a hard time. He sat in the blue chair next to my bed holding Isla in his lap. A smile on his face as he held his granddaughter for the first time.

"Dad, are you disappointed it's a girl?" I asked him.

Isla was his fourth granddaughter, and her gender was kept a surprise until birth. I had always just assumed he wanted to add another grandson to the clan.

"No, I'm glad it's a girl." he replied still looking down at her.

A bit later my son arrived with my in-laws. My son, Smith, loved his Pa-paw, they were the best of buddies. They instantly started playing with toy dinosaurs together, roaring at each other while Smith pretended the T-Rex was biting Pa-paw's leg. When dad was getting ready to leave we told Smith to tell him bye and to say I love you. I remember that moment perfectly. I remember the whole visit perfectly. But I cannot remember if I said bye. I cannot, no matter how hard I try, remember my last words to my dad.

A few hours later my dad, Gregory Lynn, was found by my mom on his bathroom floor after suffering a massive heart attack. He was 70 years old. He was the smartest man I've ever known. He had an endless passion for learning, and was always looking for his next adventure. He told the silliest stories and sang the craziest songs. He was our constant source of entertainment. I was always so proud to call myself his daughter. I AM so proud to call myself his daughter. He is loved and so important to all of us. You don't often feel the importance of someone in your life until they are no longer here on earth. The impact of his absence feels like a thick cloud covering every piece of my life. I will learn how to move forward eventually. I can see glimmers of light when my daughter smiles at me and when my son gives me big hugs. I am heart broken of all the memories they will miss out on with their beloved Pa-paw, but I will keep him alive through stories and pictures. Hopefully one day I will smile at the memories instead of cry, but right now I am still trying to survive... still trying to fight my way through the fog.