Mourning What’s Lost

I told myself time and time again, self: you need to go write your monthly blog post. Now here we are: it’s July. Let me catch you up…

In April, I had what turned out to be a very disappointing experience, personally, at the SCBWI Conference. I had a one on one with a literary agent that was as disheartening as it comes. When I found a silver lining in the AMAZING critique I got from a different conference faculty member, I was later severely let down when she quickly rejected my query and story, as she was “not a good fit to represent me.” Seriously?

In May, my family very suddenly decided it was time to move my father in with us (he suffers from a very specific type of dementia, Primary Progressive Aphasia). But before we could do that, we’d need to buy a bigger house.

And wouldn’t you know before May was up, we moved right into our new house and even hosted our friends for a Memorial Weekend game night. But it wasn’t without difficulty: we had very, very dear neighbors and it literally broke me into tears telling them our plans. I miss them. I miss our house. I miss our back porch views and my mighty handsome heron fly-overs. Yet, we press on.

Then there was June. Oh June, how you screwed us, royally. On June 1, my husband dropped me and my daughter to the airport so we could fly to Hungary to visit my mom. We arrived in Budapest the next day, just before lunch time, and it was a wonderful, beautiful day, full of joy and promise of GREAT things to come.

We woke up the next morning to the news that my grandfather (my mother’s father) was hospitalized back in Oklahoma City. We three girls carried on, hoping and believing it was just another low iron count episode. My husband kept us in the loop and things seemed to be well in hand. But we were haunted. The whole trip, honestly, soured.

About a week in, my husband was supposed to hop on a plane and join us in Hungary – to be present for my mom’s wedding and all the plans beyond. Our family vacation would finally begin…except that it didn’t.

All the test results came together and my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer in his spine, hip, and all over his vital organs. We were devastated. We were thousands of miles away. The next morning, my mom booked she and her soon-to-be new husband tickets back to Oklahoma City and she re-booked our tickets to match theirs.

We arrived to Oklahoma City late on a Tuesday night and my grandfather passed peacefully, with all of us by his side, that very Friday. It was extremely fortunate we got any time at all with him. We’re forever grateful…with only a touch of bitterness, for flavor.

Since then, we’ve spent a lot of extra time with my grandmother. My mom even stayed to be with her the whole week after my grandfather’s passing. She’s since returned to Hungary – that was less than two weeks ago.

On July 1, we moved my dad in with us. What at first seemed like an easy-breezy afternoon suddenly turned me into a shuddering mess, at least mentally. I prayed every free moment, while simultaneously panicking about this huge transition, after the only home he’s known for 10 years is now off the table. Was he going to have a huge fit? Would he disappear in the night? Steal my car and try to go “home?” Go off wandering, frustrated and confused?

I’m very pleased to report that he accepted his place here pretty well and the worst I was prepared for at bedtime did not happen. My relief came in the form of streaming tears. However, I won’t lie to you: it’s not been one ounce of easy.

I’m not certain if it’s the big change he’s adjusting to or if he’s digressed suddenly, but my dad is far worse off than I realized. For years, I’d taken him for half a day and we’d run errands and go do things – really fun things like bowling and the botanical gardens. And not so fun things like doctors’ appointments and the accountant. He was always so happy to be with me. He was thrilled to be with his granddaughter.

Now, he’s just too quiet. Not very joyful. He’s short tempered with everything and everyone. And, worst of all, he’s been very mean to my daughter, at times. That’s what’s disturbing me the very most.

Did I mention…all the while, we prepared and then listed our old house for sale? Yes. I ferociously prepared the house before we left for Hungary and my saint of a husband finished moving everything from the garage all by himself after we left. The house officially went on the market while we were in Hungary, and Praise the Lord, it went Under Contract (Pending Sale) yesterday, July 5. That’s one monumental thing removed from our plate of concern.

I’ll leave it right there, for now. I’ll make another post soon about where my writing career has found itself through all of the above…

I hope this finds YOU well – please keep us in your prayers.

Featured Image: My mom, daughter, and myself on our one afternoon in Budapest, grounding ourselves in the strength and beauty of the Danube.