Day 6

A little late posting yesterday's events...

Happy Father's Day!
This day always gets to me, along with Mother's Day, and all the other birth and death anniversaries I remember every year about people most significant to me. Dad and I had an awkward relationship. It was pretty much hell growing up. I didn't really know him while mom was alive; he went to work, came home and ate dinner, then us younger kids would be in bed before any kind of bonding or relationship activities would take place that I can remember, aside from TV or reading to him at the table. On the weekends we would have to go to our Grandparents' house to work in the yard pruning orange and fig trees, picking grapes from the vine, mowing the yard, or picking up walnuts that had fallen from the overgrown tree. I don't have very many good memories of those times, as dad was the authoritarian figure and most of my time was spent crying from the pressure to be perfect and him yelling to enforce the same.
After mom died, Dad really didn't have a clue on how to raise functional children. Our dysfunction stems from the inability to appropriately communicate and dysfunctional coping mechanisms like anger quickly leading to yelling, name calling, and put downs. From the age of 13 I had this man as my father, but I was the mother--cook, clean, laundry, phone calls, mailing bills, etc. I rebelled soon after and what time I did spend at home was tarnished with the same dysfunction as in earlier years, only magnified because I had learned these coping mechanisms and used them myself. I tried staying away from home as much as I could. By the time I was 18, I started going to college and home was a place with my clothes, a bed, food; so I managed to deal with it. The yelling toned down a bit; maybe the old man (a term of endearment in the better times) was getting older, or maybe I was growing out of my teenage angst. So fights were more infrequent, but I saw my younger brother go through similar hardships with communication and being quick to anger.
By the time I met Andrew and moved out of my father's house, we were amicable at best times, yet I was quick to criticise Dad and still had a very generally unwell feeling about being around him for too long. A year or so and a visit or two passed and something changed. I started calling Dad to see how he was, after all, he and my younger brother were the only two left at the house. He would tell me about dates he'd go on, and women who broke up with him, how I was doing in school, when we'd come visit again. This went on for another year, then the calls became more frequent. One night he called and asked for health advise. He had gone to the doctor because he thought he had a heart attack. The doctor was unable to conclusively say yes or no, as he had waited days before going and some of the more definite markers were unable to be traced by then. He was given pills upon pills to manage all the risk factors he did have like type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, obesity, alcoholism, depression. He believed in holistic medicine because he witnessed my mom go through a painful battle with colorectal cancer which spread quickly to her liver that (inevitably) ended up taking her life. He believed that it was better to take supplements to improve his health rather than to take many of his prescribed pills because of the awful side effects he had. When he asked, my advise was to listen to your doctor and to live as if you had a heart attack; take care of your body. Our phones calls got more frequent until they became weekly events that I eventually looked forward to making and receiving. We had a plan that one week he'd call, and then next week I'd call. If I ever missed a week, he was quick to make sure to call to make sure I was okay. My missing calls wasn't often and more related to lack of time and stress from going to university. I'd call him the same for his missed calls. I remember one conversation so vividly because he called me "sweetie" and told me he always felt better after talking to me. He was not one to say I love you, I've heard him tell me that less times than I can count on one hand. I never believed he did either until our phone calls started. I learned that he was doing the best he could, this was just him; and I started to love the person that he was for who he was, and tried to bite my tongue if I could when I disagreed with him. That was still a bit difficult.
Then one night, the 29th of December, he called to make sure I was okay. It was a little out of the blue because I had just talked with him on Christmas. He said he wasn't feeling well, but again, just talking was doing him good. He asked if I needed money for school because he had been paying my tuition. I told him not this time; this time we'll pay for it. I lied; Andrew and I couldn't really afford it, we had to use a credit card, but I wanted him to be proud of me that we were making it and that I was growing up and could be independent. The call was short.
I started up a fresh new semester of school. I was hitting the books hard, working in the school library, and trying to make A's. Life was suddenly very busy. After my first few days of school, I was so in love with my education--the prospect of becoming a registered nurse--and so in love with studying and what I was doing that time came away from me. It was January 9th and I was going to call Dad to tell him about my excitement as I had not called this week yet and it was time for a call anyway, but I had to have my first assignment in so I decided to study and call him the next day. That evening my younger brother called to tell me Dad had passed suddenly of an unexpected heart attack.
The majority of my life up until then had be spent hating this man up until about 3 years before his passing. Sometimes I wanted him to die. I wanted the hell that I was living to be over with. But then as it happened all too swiftly, I loved my Daddy and I was so proud of the accomplishment we made to have a civil and loving relationship--so quickly that was ripped away from me. I thought it's not fair. Earlier in years past, I thought he was going to be the angry alcoholic until 99 and my whole life would be overcast with this gloom forever. Right before his passing it was-- well not anymore, I have the version of this Dad that I always wanted and more. I thank God for the blessing that we were able to restore our relationship to a pure version, one I think that we both wanted but never knew how to get. I sometimes feel guilty for being the reason why we failed at love for so many years. But the last years were so magnificent in comparison that I ache for the relationship we had. So when I think of Father's Day, or his birthday, or his death anniversary, or my parent's wedding anniversary, I have a bittersweet nostalgia bathe my soul. I have my own kind of heart attack, Daddy. I miss you.

As for my loving husband: He's not a daddy to a living child yet, but we call each other mommy and daddy in reference to our 90 lb labcat (lab/catahoula cross) B. We don't celebrate exactly, but we give each other allowance for a pretty fantastic day. He's brought me flowers on Mother's day; I've written him a card from B that I just found out he still has. :) So we relaxed yesterday. There was lots of fun had after church playing the Sims 3, listening to him play guitar, and watching one of "his" movies. During sacrament I thought it was more important to obey the sabbath and stay home instead of working out. The blessing of obeying that was having a wonderful day with my husband. My body needs rest anyway, and that feels like a justification for not working out because in my mind I still feel like I need to go all out 2 hours, every day of the week. I'm still learning to balance.

Meals
1 bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios
1 cup of milk

1 60% whole wheat hamburger bun
1/4 cup whole wheat spaghetti (l/o)
1/8 jar Ragu
2 oz meatballs
1 cup lettuce/tomato
1/2 cup potato salad (l/o)
2 cups of water

2 cups of water

1 cup mashed potatoes with skin
2 tbsp herb and garlic light cream cheese
2 tsp Becel margarine
2 cups of water

1 1/2 cups of cookie dough ice cream!
1 cup of water

Exercise
Rest

Notes:
-I caved in with the ice cream. Here's my mantra the entire time I was contemplating eating it: "I am health. I need balance." The rest of the day was alright. I'm finding that I'm still lacking the fibrous fruits and vegetables that I need and I've been eating a LOT of potatoes recently. That's what happens when you have left overs.
-My body needs rest. I'll be okay resting today as long as I work out tomorrow.