Heaven and Earth
I have never been through this before, I never had anyone die who I was close to. I find myself going through a million of emotions and thoughts. Every day ends in massive exhaustion. Grief is strange... it's a different kind of sadness. It overcomes you at moments, holds you in a grip physically and mentally and then it lets go but continues to hover over you even when you are feeling peaceful about it all and go about your day doing the things you always do. Regardless of your feelings it seems to have to run its course, like a virus... nothing to be done, you just need let it do its thing and try to rest when you can.
I haven't found my faith in eternal life tested at all. I'm grateful for that. I know my father is not gone on the same level of awareness as my knowledge that God exists. Both have little to do with human knowledge or emotion or rational thought. They are a gift and reside in the realm of mystery. The place you can't convey, but can show itself through yourself and other people. But I am still human and alive and the fact that my father is not reachable is confusing. All I know is "alive", I don't know "dead". I have no concept of what that means for me.
I keep having these conversations with him in my head... "- So, what do you mean, you're not here? Weren't you going to come visit in November? You haven't seen Nikola yet. I didn't even get to tell you I was hoping you could take the kids on the new boat this summer. I know you always wanted that... finally there would've been an opportunity... I don't understand." And I would see him looking at me regretfully and shrug... "- Umro sam, Dinkica, evo, kaj mogu? Jednostavno sam umro! (- I died, my dear Dinka, what can I do? I just, simply died!) Then I'd laugh a little, because of the complete lack of logic in all of this.
At the same time I feel that right now my dad is who he was, but in a "new and improved" version if you will. It feels as if his soul left that sick, old and exhausted burden of a body, which in its broken organs trapped all the bitterness, the fear and the guilt, all the limitations he had put on himself and us, all the heaviness of waking up to the same old same old every day. He is free at last and what is left will be buried in all its harmless and useless irrelevance. What is it like to be fully who you were meant to be, in the right place with full understanding? I literally can't imagine but there is a certainty that it's exactly where we're all headed.
I'm tempted to shrug all of this off as grief-induced incoherent ramblings. And maybe that's what it is in part. At the same time it's a relief to experience something that surpasses what is explainable and could be processed rationally and emotionally... because I come to rely on faith, which curiously makes everything feel just right. I still can't make it sound logical, but it makes perfect sense.
Posted at 09:25 AM on September 27, 2008 | Comments (5)Moj dragi tata
Tomislav Keglevic
December 21st 1936 - September 23rd 2008
My father died today after a long illness. I am still in shock but also incredibly grateful.
I will miss you so much. Rest in peace... until I see you again.
Crumbs for survival
Every day around 4 o'clock when Ivan wakes up from his nap (well, when I wake him up) and I realize yet again, that I will not have time to do the other 3 or 7 things I had on my list for that day, it also becomes clear that I am facing the dinner/bedtime countdown... and after that the special 1-2 hours of child-free/husband time of my day. From that moment on, I refocus all my energy to get only the basics done so the kids are in bed on time and I get to have a conversation (often times the first of the day... bickering with kids doesn't count) and experience myself as something else than someone's mother. I also have a chance to remember that I'm married.
The time is always too short, but it's essential. I live for those hours. I know they could be used for errands or working out or writing on my blog (ha ha) or whatever else, but I am not willing. I just conceded to start exercising on Wednesday nights knowing full well that by Thursday I'll probably have to have a list of things I need to talk to Lincoln about. This is a lesson we have both learned lately... painfully... There really is not much of "postponing" of things, at least not short term. If you want to do something, you can't do the other. At all. For sure. Time is so precious and so scarce that you will not be able to squeeze in things. You can make time for things, but that means canceling other things. Not rescheduling. Canceling*. It reminds me of the fake saving plans my sister and I used to make, like "How could we afford a month-long-vacation to wherever? Sell our two Mercedeses! Just imagine all the money we'd have.. blabla". Same thing now. What if we just stopped sleeping? Can you IMAGINE the time for leisurely pursuits?
It's hard for me to skip a night of talking about our day and commenting on various news, articles, people etc. It's doable, sure, but it's one of those things I can't afford to miss long term. When the work is so massive in its size and impact I need to feel what it is about. I need to be reminded who I am outside of it. I don't work with machines and more than anything I need to be someone for the kids rather than just do something. (Which is so hard, by the way.) It saves my sanity to know that I still exist and the person I remember is not gone, just sort of crowded out of the room most of the time.
We sit and we chat away. We are laughing about ourselves, about the pace of conversation and about how every other sentence starts with "What I was going to say earlier... (when we were interrupted of course)" or "Oh and another thing before I forget/you got to bed/basically our time is up..." We're on the clock, we know it and we have to get the most out of this time. The ironic thing is that I'm sure we'll end up looking back on it with fondness one day because when you are under pressure you are so much more aware and the time spent together is more vivid. Yet you don't appreciate it because you tend to focus on how too little and too short it all is and how bad you have it.
It feels as if it all comes down to tasks, schedules, technicalities but there is a - excuse my tendency to dramatize - hum of eternity in all of it. We are investing our lives into something beautiful, that granted, has swept us away in chaos, but what we do is not an accident and we are not victims. It's just so hard to remember and to feel it in the moment. We are so tired. At the end of the day though we inadvertently remind each other.
"I don't think I can do this anymore... "
"Me neither..."
And then we do.
*Because of writing this post, I don't have half the dinner ready, did not finalize Veronika's fundraising form, did not prepare packages to be mailed and probably have additional cleaning up to do since Ivan was not supervised. What will have to go... sleep, the almost-clean house, full bellies?
Posted at 10:25 AM on September 09, 2008 | Comments (3)Girls & Dolls
Veronika got this doll for her birthday and as soon as I mentioned we "could" sew something for her, she insisted I sit down and churn out skirts, dresses, more dresses, also skirts, maybe some dresses etc...
It's very hard to sew for a 13" doll that has a disproportionately large head, and does not bend her limbs. Making these clothes was a test of patience, a race ("Is it done yet? When is it gonna be done?") and an explosion of frustration ("@#)$^%ing sewing machine!!! DO IT ALREADY. DO IT!!!") all rolled into one. Also dinner might have been late a few days and we might have only had sandwiches and some of the laundry wasn't done and maybe the baby was left to cry a few times a tad too long...The results are a lot of fun though. Veronika's excitement alone was worth it.
Posted at 08:32 PM on September 02, 2008 | Comments (8)Updated as well
My husband did it. It might seem minor. These things take a lot of time though. We have three kids. We still have websites we update. That is major.
Posted at 09:47 AM on September 02, 2008 | Comments (1)