I remember well the night my Father died. It was a Sunday and first day of the new year in 2012. He was very quiet that day, as he had been since his illness progressed. I would look in on him from time to time. My mom went in a few times as well to make sure he was doing okay. Later that night, I was getting ready for bed. My mom came downstairs where I was and looked very strange. I returned her gaze with fear for the worst and asked what’s wrong. She replied, “Cindy, I think your Father past away”.
I remember leaping out of bed which was an amazing feet for me since I was over 460 pounds at the time. I ran upstairs into my Dad’s room and yelled at him. “Wake up!” I screamed, but I did not get a response. I started to shake him violently screaming at him to wake up, but I again no response. I then realized that the day I was preparing for, but not really prepared for finally came. My Father died.
I immediately fell to the ground. Screaming, wailing, and beating the floor were my actions. Inconsolable was my place I resided and for a moment it seemed I was not coming back. I then remembered I had work to do. I had to get up and start contacting the different parties on my “In case Dad dies” list. I had to call the hospice nurse to confirm he was dead. Once she came over and confirmed his death, I had to call the cremation society to have his body removed. In tandem, my mom and I started to call family members to also tell them the news and to let them know what the future arrangements were.
The night my Father died, I died too. It was some years later that I realized that I did in fact die. The reason why is because the person I was then versus now is very different. I was a person that was very reliant on my parents. I second guessed everything I did. I was also constantly seeking the approval of others. When my Dad got sick, I had to grow up fast. I became everything to him. I was the caregiver, the chauffeur, the cook, the accountant, the decision maker, everything. In a way, we switched roles and I was the parent whether I wanted to be or not. When he died, and ever since, I could not stay in a sadden state no matter what. I had and continue to take action.
I noticed now that I am a person that is constantly doing. Even after I get news that does not sit well with me, I make myself keep going and I make my circle hold me accountable to keep going. I tell you no lies, it is hard to do. I am human. I feel, I hurt, I get sad, I get low, and I sometimes want to quit, but I can’t and I won’t. I have to, I must, go on.
When the services and the burial of my Father was finally over. I realized that I was still grieving. I decided to get therapy. In those sessions, the therapist allowed me to get my feelings out whether I had to cry or cuss. She also taught me that in the mean time, my Father would had wanted me to go on and live my life. From that point, I started learning ways to give myself care. I had to re-learn prayer, to meditate, to journal and other vehicles to take myself to a place of wholeness.
In the process of becoming a whole person (which I still am learning to do), I learned my worth. I tell myself you are good, you are wonderful, you are amazing, and you are loved. You are passionate and you can do anything you set your mind to do. This is not being haughty. This is staying in the practice of loving myself. These are tools I use to continue.
Life is difficult at times. It can be stressful and overwhelmingly cruel but it is worth living. In the most difficult times, its important to care for yourself, affirm yourself and love yourself. I heard someone say that no one has to care. They don’t have to care about your accomplishments, your well-being, nothing. But here is the thing, even if no one has to care, YOU should! You should care enough for the entire world because when you do, others cannot help but to see the light in you. Keep going. Don’t stop. Practice the principle of specificity (Specific adaptations to impose demands). You will make it to your destiny.