Gigi-T

I am feeling down again. I'm not sleeping well, because I haven't taken the Ativan for four nights now. I keep thinking about my father and every sad thing that ever happened to him. Even though his suffering is over, it's not over for me. Even remembering the happy times haunts me. It seems the years just flew by. Why is happiness so fleeting but sadness lingers so long? I asked Healthy San Francisco to assign me another therapist, but I have to wait two more weeks. There aren't many therapists who accept Medi-Cal. They don't have many female therapists my age or older, because they retire or move into private practice. I asked them to please assign me someone who is kind and compassionate. Someone who understands an existential crisis and hopefully knows how to do cognitive behavioral therapy. One previous therapist told me I have PTSD. Even though my dad had serious health issues for a long time, I didn't expect him to die when he did. It was a horrible shock to me when he had to be placed in Comfort Care. My dad was my main emotional support for 55 years. Now that he's gone I don't have much hope for the future. I can't live without love or joy. I can't stand the idea of living alone for the rest of my life, I want so much to have a special person with me who understands me. I know no one will understand me like my father did -- we had practically our own secret language -- little idioms and expressions that only made sense to us. I know I was very lucky to have such a close bond with my dad for so long, but it makes losing him all the harder, especially since I don't have friends close by. I have cousins who have been supportive, but I don't see them that often. I'm used to having my father with me every day. He made life worth living. I don't feel up to joining any interest clubs or hobby groups yet. I used to have lots of hobbies and interests, but anything associated with my life before my dad died makes me sad. I still avoid watching tv or even buying groceries, because these were activities that I shared with him. My refrigerator has never been so empty. And if I experience anything he might have liked, it depresses me. I don't even want to eat some of his favorite foods, because he can't enjoy them. I know it's crazy but this is how I feel. You'll recall that out of loneliness I recently signed up for an online dating site. I can't believe I did that, because I'm normally a somewhat shy person. At first I enjoyed the attention, but soon discovered that many of the messages I received were from scammers. I was foolish to give four of them my email address (one I don't use that often). I have blocked them and disabled my account. I think I need to tweak my profile so I don't sound so lonely -- it was like sharks smelling blood. I heard from three civil engineers, a popular profession for romance scammers. Two of them had LinkedIn accounts. They were all widowers with children. One of them was very lovable in his way of writing. I liked the way he talked about his hopes and dreams for love and romance, fun and adventure. He was clever but also amusing. I couldn't help feeling sorry for him like one would for a character in a romantic movie or novel. If only someone like him really existed! He could actually be a prisoner or even a housewife trying to make some extra money. One posing as an international construction company owner feigned sympathy for my grief, encouraging me to be strong. The giveaway was when he mentioned recently having a project in Kenya, a country infamous for its Internet scam rings. A third civil engineer was a Ukrainian who kept lecturing me on love and relationships but he wouldn't respond to the things I was writing. Some scammers are too lazy to even try to be convincing. I also got several military scammers. I started researching about dating site scams and now I'm pretty good at spotting them. One scammer had over 350 different aliases.

Thanks, KayC, I'm still getting replies on the dating site, but no local guys. I got one from as far away as Turkey. I have to tell them all that I want to meet a local man in person first, not after spending a lot of time writing by email. It's too easy to fall in love just through words and photos, then not have chemistry in person. Even the men on Craigslist Strictly Platonic live too far away and most are "420 friendly" (marijuana users) which I'm not. I haven't posted an ad on Craigslist but I check the site from time to time. I'm glad that your old friend is moving back to the neighborhood. Since I don't drive, 60 miles sounds pretty far. San Francisco is only 7 miles wide.

Thank you, KayC, for your kind suggestions. As soon as I uploaded a photo, I started getting messages on the dating site, but every one of the men are located too far away. The closest is 25 miles away which is a whole hour away. If someone has to drive that long to meet me, I'd better be darn good company. I live in San Francisco. Many times people don't want to go out around here, because it's such a hassle to find parking, and the traffic seems to be getting worse each year. I'm relieved that some men on the dating site have said they find me attractive, even beautiful. I wish they had this site twenty years ago! But maybe they want an invitation to San Francisco. Through the years, I've gotten a number of emails from men who were obviously more interested in San Francisco than in me. I tried a couple of grief support groups, one got cancelled and the other only meets once a month and it was a bit far for me. It's astonishing that there aren't that many free ones here in SF, though there might be ones that don't advertise. There is one that you have to pay $44 per session, but I'm hesitant now after already spending $500 out of pocket to see one of my previous therapists (a minister who was rather cynical). I'd rather go to Las Vegas and gamble that money away -- I'd probably have a much better time, but I don't want to go alone. I talked to my aunt in Connecticut earlier this evening and I ended up crying on the phone to her. She's pretty tough though and she can take my mourning better than I thought. She said she wants to know what's going on with me. She was very depressed after she lost her husband, so she understands how remembering the past can be bittersweet. They were together 39 years and had four children together. She lived alone for a while, played a lot of tennis, got involved with her church, sang with a choir, had dinner with friends. Now she lives with her son in Connecticut and visits her daughter in Alabama. I"m sorry you're going through what I'm going through, too, As time goes by, I'm missing my dad more and more. I don't know how I am going to be happy again without him. Now that he's gone, I feel like I should have treasured every moment I had with him. Lookng through all these dating site ads, people put so much money and effort into doing exciting things, but just sitting on the couch with my dear old dad was more fun than sailing the seven seas! Why did I ever complain about wanting to have more fun? I wanted him to have more fun, too, but he liked staying at home. I liked staying at home with him, but I like going out, too. Now that he's not here, staying home just isn't the same. but neither is going out. I have to do a lot of the same things I did before: cook, wash dishes, do laundry, clean the house, tend the garden, and there's plenty more to do around here, but there's no payoff. The payoff was enjoying my dad's company and just knowing he was here. I might eventually want to take classes and pursue my interests through clubs and groups, as you suggested, but I'd still have to come home to an empty house. I suppose once I get a job my new purpose in life will be to please my employer, but as Leonardo da Vinci once said, "Life without love, is no life at all."

Thank you, Anne, for your kind message. I am determined to find at least one understanding person who I can talk to face to face. I even posted about my grief on a dating site. I know it's not very attractive to be grieving, but I'm just looking for friendship and I figure there has to be some men who are lonely and grieving. I never saw so many happy, well-adjusted men in my life! Why do they even need a dating site and the women on there are so young and beautiful -- I don't have a snowball's chance in hell, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. I don't want to travel the world or hop into bed, I just want someone to talk to and enjoy a restaurant meal with. Even the people on Craigslist Strictly Platonic live too far away. I want to find someone who is also sad and lonely -- maybe we can cheer each other up. I still can laugh and smile when I'm not suffering from a grief relapse. Why is it so hard to make new friends in a world filled with 7 billion people!

Thank you so much, Marty, for your comforting message and the links. It is good to be able to come here and vent my sorrow when there is no where else to turn. What makes it difficult for me is that my father and I shared so much music, films and other experiences over the last 55 years, that there are literally thousands of potential triggers to send me into a grief relapse. If I weren't so isolated, I think it would be easier for me, but even when people call, such as my aunt in Connecticut, I feel it's wrong to burden her with my grief. She's a very emotionally strong person, but at 91 she has some health issues and is starting to slow down. So there's really not much I can tell her even though she's the aunt who has shown the most care and concern for me and my father over the years. I feel like I'm under a gag order. She has invited me to go stay with her, but I'd still have to put on a mask to hide my pain, so I think it might be more exhausting than therapeutic to go stay with anyone right now. Luckily, I'll be spending Easter with my cousins tomorrow, two sisters, their brother and his girlfriend. My cousin will be preparing pistachio encrusted rack of lamb. She's an excellent cook. They've all been on their own since they were teenagers, so they don't understand what it's like to have a very close bond with a parent all of one's life. But they do know about loss, since their mother died young back in 1966 from scleroderma. Their father quickly remarried and moved to another state. He died three years ago, and even though they loved him, they did not see him often, so I don't expect them to understand the intensity of my grief. But they are sympathetic, because my cousin told me that she wants me to feel that I'm not alone and that they love me. They used to live in this house when we were all kids. It makes me cry again to think that my great uncle's hospitality over 50 years ago is now being extended to me, like a gift from beyond the grave. You see, my great uncle opened his home to many of his relatives through the years. including my grandmother, my father and me. My father and I were the ones who stayed and took care of him in his old age. Uncle Al was my father's godfather, and thanks to him, we had a place to stay for the rest of our lives. I remember the happy years when this house was filled with relatives, so I'm not used to being alone. And yet, I can't open my home to anyone right now, because of insurance issues that still have to be resolved. I have to bring this old house up to code, before anyone will insure it. I was dealing with various contractors, some of them crooked, before my father died, and I regret so much that these problems marred my final months with my father (not knowing he would die when he did). I'm afraid to let anyone stay here, because one relative sued her own sister when her dog tripped her and she broke her wrist. Now they don't talk to each other and she won't let her sister onto her property when she comes to spend time with their mother. One sister teaches Sunday school and the other is a very compassionate HR counselor -- if this kind of thing can happen between such decent people, I shudder to think what would happen if I let anyone else stay here. Some of my younger relatives take drugs, listen to death metal music, and have a weird attitude. Times have changed so much since I was a child. Fortunately, I have many more wholesome relatives than troubled ones, but they don't need a place to stay. I have purchased the books you recommended in Kindle format and look forward to reading them. God bless you for your kindness. I wish you a Happy Easter.

My dad died three months ago and I thought I was feeling better, but today I feel worse than ever. It's been so discouraging, because I've been looking for a grief counselor and one I called last week, told me I needed to get my health insurance in order before she would take me. So I found out my Medi-Cal health plan is still in place, even though I have more than $3,000 in the bank. I was told that you can have a million dollars (not that I do!) and still get on the Medi-Cal health plan, because there's no asset test, just as long as you're low income. At first, I thought that was good news until I discovered that there are very few grief therapists who accept Medi-Cal and only one has feedback on Yelp or anywhere. I called that therapist back and she said she has no slots available anymore and that I should try grief support groups. I already tried that and there aren't any in my area.for my kind of grief, only for suicide, child loss, grieving children, pet loss or divorce. There's only one other therapist with an online ad that accepts Medi-Cal and she does not list grief as one of her specialties, but she does list depression, anxiety, sleep disorders, PTSD and life transition, so I may have no choice but to try her out. The therapist also suggested I call Medi-Cal to have them assign me a therapist, but the last one they assigned me didn't help me much. I've been trying to distract myself by going out with relatives to restaurants and other activities. On Sunday I went to an amateur singing recital with a live jazz band and listening to the old standards my dad and I used to sing on the karaoke machine gave me knots in my stomach. Then I tried trivia night at a bar on Tuesday with my cousin. It was mildly diverting but by the time she drove me home, I felt like crying, because I remembered how my dad used to like the fish and chips at that bar. I wished we had gone there more often, before he was diagnosed with CHF and had to go on the salt restricted diet. I didn't want to cry in front of my cousin, because she went out of her way to take me, and I didn't want her to see how miserable I was feeling in spite of her kind efforts. A similar thing happened when another cousin took me to lunch and the cemetery a week ago. We were enjoying our meal when I told her that she of all people understands how I miss my dad, because she has lived with her mother all of her life. Then she started crying and said that she hopes she dies before her mother, because she probably couldn't stand to lose her. She added that everything seemed to be going well until I made her cry. So you see I can't say much to my relatives, because they are either too close to the situation and understand only too well, or they don't understand at all. They don't really want to hear about sadness and loss, which they will have to face when their own parents die. My cousin lost her father when she was only 13 years old and she still misses him nearly 50 years later. She has been having health problems, so it is theoretically possible that she could die before her 89 year mother, God forbid. Her mom is still well enough to travel and just got back from a trip to San Antonio on a chartered plane. I told my cousin I wouldn't have wanted to die before my dad. Then he would be missing me like I'm missing him right now. I'd rather suffer like this than have him suffer from grief and loneliness along with his health problems. Certain things trigger intense grief in me, such as thinking about an old song my dad used to like. The longing I feel is so painful --- I remember how sentimental he was -- I don't know anybody like him who had such a sweet, romantic heart. He liked the oldtime song from the Broadway stage called "I Love You" which has the line, "Three words that are divine. And now, my dear, I'm waiting to hear the words that make you mine." What triggered this memory was that I was signing up for the OKCupid dating site, and one of the questions was "What is your opinion of couples who frequently say "I love you" to one another?" Then I thought of that song we both liked and the pain of missing him and that unique connection we both had through vintage music -- the pain was so terrible! I feel like I'm the last person on earth who has ever heard that song. I know that's not true, but where would I ever find someone who could appreciate it the same way that my father and I did? And even if I did find someone who liked that song, he or she wouldn't be the same person that my father was. He was different even from his own brothers. And yet his brothers also liked the oldtime music, and I find myself missing them more, too, now that my father is gone I've started updating the Find-a-Grave site memorials for my dad's entire family, because I'm the only person in my family who would even think of doing this. Everybody else is too busy working or having fun. I feel like the sole survivor of a maritime disaster. I wish more relatives had been there for my dad when he was dying in the hospital, but everybody lives so far apart, and being that his last days of consciousness were on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, everyone was busy celebrating with their families. I feel so alone in my grief -- can't even find a compassionate therapist to listen to me. I've tried three already. There's no one I can call in the middle of the night. I have a friend who is an insomniac, but she hated her parents and doesn't understand how I feel. She says I must like wallowing in my grief. She said I'm like someone rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic -- that I should be more worried about finding a job. She thinks three months is long enough to mourn, and yet, she still mourns losing her fortune in the stock market crash of 1987 -- and that's just money! By coincidence, I just received today's lesson from Marty Tousley's Self Healing Expressions grief course which is entitled, "Setbacks, Aftershocks and the Recurrence of Grief". It deals with how reminders of our loss can send painful emotions crashing in on us when we least expect it. She provides lots of good tips on how to cope with these disturbing recurrences of grief. I highly recommend her course.

I'm so glad you are feeling better. Happy Anniversary! A good marriage is truly something to celebrate. I'd be over the moon if I just had a boyfriend.

I'm sorry about your beloved cat's diagnosis. She is so lucky to have you. I think pets have shorter lifespans than we do to ensure they aren't left alone after we're gone. May God grant you strength and resignation during this difficult time.

Hi, Shari: God knows the goodness of our fathers' hearts. Even my mother must have a place in heaven, because God's mercy and grace are infinite. After her stroke, her loving spirit which she never got to fully express before, started to shine through. My mother first had mental health issues in her twenties. She voluntarily entered a hospital for psychiatric care after an air force officer she was engaged to died in a plane crash. She received shock treatments which may have done more damage than good. She also fell in love with her psychiatrist, but she wasn't the only one. The jealous husband of another patient shot the psychiatrist dead. My mother did have an interesting life. As a young girl she looked like an angel. She used to dance ballet to entertain patrons in the family restaurant. Later she was first violinist with the Portland Youth Symphony, yet she always had to play second fiddle to her aunt's adopted daughter. Her cousin was spoiled and teased her mercilessly. When my mother was 12 she saw her father for the first time since she was a baby in a newsreel -- he was among the wounded during the USS Panay Incident of 1937. My half brother told me that my mother cried for me after I went to live with my father. I was surprised to hear that but also relieved that she missed me. I could never understand why she gave me up so easily -- I was a cute, happy child. I think my mother was jealous of me, because after I was born, my father's love switched to me. But it was only because she had treated him so badly. One time after an argument, she called the police on my dad. When they arrived they saw my dad taking care me (I was just a baby then). They saw what a nice guy he was, so they told my mother if she called them again, they'd arrest HER. My mother wanted my dad to take my half brother, too, but he felt she needed to take responsibility for her son. Having him with her gave her a purpose in life. She opened a small performing arts studio, giving music, voice, ballet and drama lessons. My half brother earned a scholarship to the National Academy of Dance and became a ballet dancer in his youth. He started as Fritz in The Nutcracker and ended up dancing the title role for a major ballet company. Now he's a critical care RN. My mother never gave me any lessons, which is the biggest regret of my life. I remember her giving me a basic piano lesson when I was three years old, but soon after that my parents separated. My mother used to send over elementary music books for me, so I could teach myself to play piano. I figured out the notes for a couple of songs, but I preferred playing the piano by ear, an ability I inherited from my father. My father and I sometimes played electronic piano keyboards together. I recently played a few notes on the old upright piano, which both my mother and my dad used to play when I was a child. I had to stop, because it made me too sad. My father and I shared a lifelong love of music and films. Ever since my father died, I have not been able to listen to the music we both loved without feeling anxious and sad. I also haven't watched tv or a movie for more than a few minutes, because it makes me miss my father too much. I'm glad that you are working towards a better future. You are blessed with youth, beauty and intelligence -- seize the day! "With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts." -- Eleanor Roosevelt It's important to express our grief to others, even if being emotional is not always comfortable. I was very touched to see Tony Danza break down over his mother's death on the Dr. Oz show. After over twenty years, he still misses her terribly: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEJdHFeq40Y Thank you for your prayers. I will pray for you, too. Take good care of yourself!

I needed that. A big, warm hug to you, Anne.

Thank you very much for the suggestion. I'll look into it.

Thank you for the links, MartyT. It was Elaine Mansfield's Ted Talk that I had watched. It was very well done. My father's funeral ceremony was meaningful. I selected a coffin made of sycamore which is a symbol of strength, protection, eternity, and divinity. A spray of red roses covered the casket, because my dad's mother's name was Rosaura, which means "dawn of the rose". He had a rose tattoo on his arm in tribute to his mother. I was especially happy that my father, as a veteran, received military funeral honors, which included the playing of "Taps" (with a real bugle player rather than a recording), the folding and presentation of the flag, and the final salute by all the veterans present. The priest who presided over the services is the chief exorcist for our city and was a personal friend of St. Padre Pio. My mother's services were a little disappointing though, because the deacon used too much humor in his eulogy. I felt like I was at a roast. I know the trend is to "celebrate" the deceased person's life, but too much levity doesn't seem respectful, in my opinion. I wanted a rosary recited, but the deacon said we'll only do one decade, because any more than that people start falling asleep. At the graveside service, the priest gave a five minute blessing and then took off, because he had more important things to do. This is why I selected a different priest for my father's service, one who is a living legend around here.

Your brother reminds me of my half brother when he said, "Didn't you realize Dad was going to die some day?" Even the psychologist said to me, "All parents die, so it's just something we have to accept." I knew that, but what I would like to know is how do I arrive at acceptance? I think if there were other people mourning and crying together with me, it might bring me more comfort than just talking about my grief to a dry-eyed audience. I remember when the former Korean dictator died, the people gathered in the streets and cried together. I wish I could share my grief with someone on a purely emotional level. Other mourners may not have known my father, but they would know my grief. People sing together, dance together, eat together, sleep together, exercise together, laugh together, so why can't people cry together? Some people cry at funerals, but not always, and usually mostly for people who die young or through tragic circumstances. I see there are crying therapy sessions in Japan -- they're popular with stress-laden business executives. I'd go to something like that. The Jews have their wailing wall. My thoughts and prayers are with you both, James57 and KayC. I agree that it's the quality of the relationship which determines how we grieve. I was with my father for 55 years, and we were very close, so I realize it's going to take a long time to feel better. It's been less than 3 months. The hardest part is knowing that no one can replace him. No one else will ever think, act or talk exactly as he did. I still have our shared memories, but no one else will appreciate the things we experienced together in quite the same way. I am headed to the cemetery to bring flowers and view the inscription and photo that are now completed on my father's grave. I saw a Ted Talk in which the speaker recommended ritual to work through grief.

I have considered a roommate, but I'm afraid of getting sued. My neighbors recently got sued by some tenants and ended up having to pay $3,000 to the plaintiffs and $25,000 to their lawyer! One neighbor had problems with five tenants in a row -- she finally decided to sell her house and move to Taiwan. Another neighbor got sued by a homeless family she took pity on. She charged them very low rent, then they sued her for not fixing something. She ended up paying them $5,000. My line of work has always been caregiving -- I've never worked outside the home. I dropped out of university in my third year to care for my grandmother, then my great aunt, then my great uncle and finally my father. If I can get a minimum wage job, I should be able to pay the property taxes, but naturally there are no guarantees I will find a job at my age with millions of younger people looking for entry level jobs, too. I have sold collectibles on eBay in the past, but I wasn't able to generate a living wage with that. Now that I'm alone, it probably would be healthier for me to go out to work. A job that I don't have to bring home with me is starting to seem attractive.

Thank you, KayC. I'm so glad your husband stood up for you. I have guilt feelings, because sometimes I would get upset with my dad, because he didn't like being confrontational with people, when he was just trying to keep the peace. He would speak up if somebody had hurt me personally, but when it came to business deals he was too easy going. When he got older, I had no choice but to fight my own battles, especially with contractors. i had to do all the negotiating and the firing, then I would complain to my dad about what was happening. Now I feel awful about that, but as the trustee he had to know what was going on. I'm so glad I fired the last contractor so we had some peace during the last month of my dad's life. Now I wish I hadn't even tried to do any home improvements, but they were long overdue. I made sure not to do any projects that would upset his immediate living environment so as not to stress him out. I'm so sorry that he didn't live to see all the work completed. Now I can't afford to finish the work without his income. I have to live off my savings, until I can find a job of some sort. If I can't earn enough to pay the property taxes, I may have to sell my home at some point and move somewhere cheaper. Luckily, property values are very high here, but the idea of having to move is terrifying after living here virtually all of my life. My dad lived in this house since 1935. We were both sentimental about the old place. Après moi, le déluge

My heart goes out to you. I also never felt so anxious before my dad died, except for one incident back in a hotel room in 1999 in Mexico when I suffered my first panic attack. I was watching tv by myself in bed when suddenly I felt very nervous. My heart was racing and I felt anxious feelngs in my stomach. I had to get up and walk around until the sensation passed. My father and a family friend were down the hall in another room, but I didn't want to wake anybody up. I had been upset with my dad earlier because I was stuck in a hotel room by myself on my last night in Mexico. I thought to myself I didn't come all this way to do something I could do at home: sit in a room and watch tv, but I didn't want to go out alone and worry my dad. You see, as a longtime caregiver for various relatives, I didn't get a lot of opportunities for fun and adventure so I had pinned a lot of hopes on that trip. I did have some adventures, but being it was my last night before going home, I was desperate to have a bit more fun before it was all over. Later the next mornng when I told my dad about my panic attack, he said maybe the room was haunted. I personally am afraid to take antidepressants because I'd worry about going through withdrawal. Even my neighbor who is recovering from breast cancer doesn't want to take an antidepressant. She takes marijuana candies to help relax her. My other neighbor said her niece became suicidal while on an antidepressant. Other people I know seem to tolerate drugs like Prozac, Zoloft and Lexapro very well, though Zoloft and Lexapro tend to produce vivid dreams. An aunt took Prozac for a short time after the death of her husband. She said it helped her and she was able to stop taking it without any problem, but everyone is different, of course. Naturally, having a panic attack would make anybody worry about having another one, even if they weren't going through grief. I would try to remind yourself that you already survived your previous attacks and you've also given successful presentations before, an activity you normally enjoy and find rewarding. You can do it! Whn you have a panic attack, you are experiencing physical symptoms that you have to let pass, just as you would the pain you'd feel if you stubbed your toe. The feeling is very uncomfortable but it will pass and you are not in danger. If you're well prepared for your presentation you will be fine. Anxiety triggers more anxiety -- now you have a learned behavior to associate anxiety with panic attacks. You have to unlearn this behavior -- it might be helpful to have cognitive behavioral therapy. It may take several tries to find a good therapist. I've tried three therapists already myself, without any luck, but I'm going to try to find one who knows how to do cognitive behavioral therapy. One therapist told me she knew how to do it. I kept waiting but she never got around to it. When I was crying, she just handed me a box of tissues and said, "You are still very emotional. I think you are becoming depressed." You may have heard that breathing with your stomach helps calm anxiety. I've been taking Glysom packets which contain the amino acid glycine for anxiety and insomnia. It seems to be helping me taper down my dose of Ativan.. Exercise such as brisk walking helps relieve stress and release endorphins. I wish you the best of luck.

I'm so sorry things happened to your dad that are too horrible to describe here. My dad was better at speaking up with males, but he had a soft spot for the ladies. One time a male tech was pressing too hard on my dad's chest during an ultrasound -- so hard it hurt. The tech kept saying he'll be done in five minutes. After twenty minutes, my dad got so upset he removed the gadget from his hand and threw it on the bed, saying, "That's enough, get out!" My dad had a very slow fuse, but once his threshold was reached his fighting instinct came out. He used to box in the Golden Gloves when he was in the army during the Korean War. He was quite gallant in defending women. One time at work a woman was being attacked by a male coworker -- my dad took the guy down to the pavement and held him there until the police arrived. My dad would fearlessly lead the police on bomb searches when the building where he worked received bomb threats. Another time he ran after and tackled a guy who hit my dad's niece. He also fought with his brother-in-law when he was being mean to his nephew. My dad was quick to defend the innocent, but he preferred to avoid conflict. I can only imagine how much he endured with my mother, but there's one incident I remember when I was five years old. My parents were separated but my dad would take me for visits to my mother at her apartment downtown. One day my mother shamelessly walked down the hallway in her neglicee in sight of the janitor. When my father saw this, he dragged her back into the apartment. During their argument my father pushed her and she fell to the floor. I saw the janitor walk past the open door and so I got worried. I tugged at my father's coat and said, "Let's go home, daddy." On our way home, my dad told me, "I'm glad you stopped me. I might have done something worse to your mother." I felt good that I had saved him from a bad situation. The next day my father and I were listening to a record of "Scheherazade" by Rimsky-Korsakov when the police came knocking at the door and took my daddy away. I thought he was never coming back. That's when I started to resent my mother. There were no more visitations after that. For a long time I couldn't listen to "Scheherazade" after that traumatic incident. Things like this make me pity my father so much. He was such a good man -- he didn't deserve any of the suffering my mother put him through. I'm crying again. I wanted to make up for all the pain he had to endure on account of her, but even I did things that hurt his feelings. I always apologized -- he knew I loved him with all my heart, but the guilt lives on. My inner child always dreaded losing my father or seeing him suffer -- now my worst fears have been realized. Why does life have to be so damned sorrowful? I hope to God reincarnation does not exist. I don't want to come back here. My poor father and I couldn't even enjoy corned beef and cabbage anymore on St. Patrick's Day on account of his CHF -- too much salt. I know that sounds ridiculous in the grand scale of things, but it's the little pleasures that make life worth living. Now I have no one to spend St. Patrick's Day with. I still haven't worked up the nerve to go to a bar alone. My father would not have approved. We'd seen too many movies in which somebody gets slipped a Mickey Finn. Just to show what a decent man my father was -- he continued to give my mother money every month, even though the divorce court didn't require him to pay alimony. My mother had nearly bankrupted him with her compulsive spending, but he continued the payments until my half brother was old enough to work. Every night I pray that God will not look on his faults but on all the good he did for others. He was truly a virtuous man. “A truly virtuous man would come to the aid of the most distant stranger as quickly as to his own friend. If men were perfectly virtuous, they wouldn’t have friends.”― Montesquieu

Yes, it's sad that we never get the chance to use our hindsight to do thngs differently. My mother stopped calling me regularly when I was a teenager, except when she had paranoid delusions about the government. I would have liked to call her in later years when she was more mellow, but she refused to wear a hearing aid. My father was the opposite -- he was too laid back for his own good. The nurses used to call him their favorite patient -- in part, because he didn't make a lot of demands on them. Some of the nurses would complain about all the work they had to do, so a lot of times he wouldn't call them for assistance, because he didn't want to bother them. He was too nice and generous to a fault. I wish he had made more demands of me, too, so I wouldn't have had to anticipate his needs so much. I always felt responsible for his health and happiness. Sometimes he wouldn't tell me about a pain until after it had passed, because he didn't want to worry me or go to the hospital. His stoicism gave me a false sense of security. It must sound odd to complain about a loved one who didn't complain much, but either extreme is not good. Then while on the ventilator he wrote messages asking both me and my half brother to help him, it broke my heart, because I knew he would have never asked if he hadn't been in great distress. He also told me, "You see how I need you?" I told him, "I need you, too. That's what love is all about." On one visit I said, "Here I am, always by your side." And he looked at me with such love and gratitude. I wish I had stayed by his side day and night, instead of relying on the ICU to watch over him, but I had to sleep, because I didn't know how long he was going to be in the hospital. There was no one else to stay with him overnight. I hope someday there will be a way to monitor loved ones in the hospital remotely at all times -- that should keep the staff on their toes. I wish I had had an iPhone so I could look up things on the Internet while I was in the hospital.

I know what you mean about the younger neighbors sticking to themselves. It's the same here, especially if there's an age gap of more than ten years. I am not that close to my neighbors though a couple of them have sought me out to water their plants or feed their cats when they go on vacations. I was kind of close to one neighbor but she moved to the other side of the world. To tell you the truth, the neighbors across the street wouldn't have invited me over if I hadn't invited them to come over first to watch my memorial slideshows. Since I hadn't set foot in their house since we were kids about 45 years ago, they said it was high time I came over there. Since they don't have a dvd player hooked up to their tv they will come over here to view the slideshows later this week. I also asked if either of them would like company when they walk their dog, just to let me know. I know sometimes people would rather be alone with their thoughts after a busy day, but I've been alone with my thoughts for over two months. They'd probably prefer that I walk their dog for them, but I want to walk with somebody I can talk to. I know I'm going to have to steel myself for rejection, because these neighbors can be insensitive and flaky at times. I realize that nobody wants to feel obligated toward somebody else on a regular basis, especially when they already have a partner and plenty of friends. But if either of them would like to go for a walk with me, I think I'd enjoy it better than walking alone. It's odd that I don't usually see this couple walking together though, only separately, even though they've been together for about thirty years. Now I'm thinking maybe it was a mistake to ask them, though one of them had mentioned taking me to the gym she goes to, but she goes at 5 in the morning -- that's way too early for me now that my sleep is messed up. I miss the times when my father and I would go walking together. I wish we would have walked together more often, but he was a morning person and I am a night owl. It's weird that now that he's gone there are so many things I would have done differently. If I had him back, I probably wouldn't let him out of my sight. I guess this is the bargaining stage of grief.

I do hope so, KayC. Yes, it would be more respectful for the nurses to let the patient know what they're doing to them. I was so worried that my father wouldn't tolerate the morphine, because hydrocodone and hydromorphone (Dilaudid) had made him ill during a previous hospitalization. By some miracle, the morphine did not appear to make him sick to his stomach, though he wouldn't have been able to say so if it did. He also tolerated the propofol and fentanyl when he was on the ventilator. He told me that he was not in pain -- I hope he wasn't just saying that so as not to worry me. Since his mental state and breathing seemed relaxed before he became unconscious, I can hope that he did not suffer psychological or physical pain at the end. During the last twelve hours the Cheyne-Stokes breathing set in, and I found that distressing to witness because it looked so exhausting. However, I recently read that patients who are able to speak generally say that no distress is associated with this breathing pattern, so one can assume that it wouldn't be bothersome to a patient who is unconscious. I find that comforting. The only incident that suggested cognizance to me was when my dad waited for me to fall asleep in the chair before drawing his last breath. Perhaps he wanted me to be at peace, before he left. Yesterday afternoon I was invited over to my next door neighbor's patio party. I was surprised. I should have asked him if he overheard me crying the night before (since I've been crying more intensely lately). I told him I was very grateful for his invitation but I am too sad to attend a party at this time. (There were some days when I would have gone to his party, but I'm in a slump now.) He understood and said I should come to their next party if I'm feeling better. Then last night, my neighbors across the street invited me over, and so I went since I figured I could handle two longtime neighbors better than a crowd of strangers. We talked for three hours and had mimosas, finger foods, and homemade peanut butter cookies. I had a nice time -- this was the first time I was over their house in years -- though they have been over here a few times in the past. They let me talk about my guilt feelings and refuted every one of them. One of my hosts is recovering from breast cancer and she said that before her diagnosis her sister told her that her illness was the wrath of God. When the diagnosis for cancer was confirmed, her sister felt so guilty and would cry every time she called, but she has forgiven her sister, because we all say things we don't mean at the time. Her partner has lost most of her immediate family, three brothers and her mother. She went to a spiritualist church where they do psychic readings for people wanting to communicate with their lost loved ones. The psychics pass through the people in attendance and then stop when they get a message or vision of some sort. The psychic stopped in front of my neighbor and said there were a lot of spirits around her and that one of them was making a triumphant gesture -- you know where you clasp your hands and then lift them over your head. She said her late brother used to do that when he got good news. She really believes the psychic saw her brother. The psychic also told her that someone in her family was happy with a decision that she had recently made. That's a bit vague, but she thinks it was her decision to quit drinking at that time. She has started drinking again though. It was funny how they were dancing around trying to cheer me up. Now they have promised to take me to trivia night at a local Irish bar. I told them I don't think I can face living the rest of my life alone. They said you're not alone, you have us. I meant living here without my father, but it is a blessing to have friendly neighbors though they haven't always been so nice. They can be extremely rude when riled (but not with me yet). The cancer diagnosis has made them both kinder, gentler people who are very philosophical now. They've also invited me to go to New Orleans with them. They go every year, because they love the people, the food and the culture. I'm in no condition to travel, but it's nice to be asked. Later this week they are coming over to my place to watch the memorial slideshows I made for my father and mother, since they couldn't attend the services. My cousin's girlfriend gave me a list of two psychiatrists and a psychologist that she recommends. The psychiatrists have mixed reviews on Yelp. One has a nice smile in his photo ad, but a reviewer said he is very honest, frank and very tough -- that doesn't sound compassionate to me. Another reviewer said he is a total jerk -- that he left nasty messages on his answering machine because he doesn't like patient's cancelling an appointment. Sounds like the doctor needs therapy. One reviewer said the second psychiatrist was too brusque and listened more than she talked. Another said that her advice sounds like a drug company ad. The psychologist sounds good in her ad but she has no reviews. I think I'll keep looking for a grief counselor.

Even some doctors admit the medical field is going to hell. I will try to find a grief counselor, but most of them are very young -- there must be a high burnout rate. I still need to find a good primary care physician. My first doctor was at a drop-in clinic so he didn't have time to focus on any one patient. The second one was a friend of the family who prescribed the Ativan without warning me about how addictive benzos are. She also prescribed Xanax but I'm afraid to try it. My current physician is not good about answering my questions and he takes too many vacations. I haven't had a sleep study done, because even if I have sleep apnea, I know I wouldn't be able to sleep on a CPAP machine. I even take off eye shades in my sleep. Just mentioning the CPAP reminds me of the night my dad was on the Bi-PAP through the night in the ICU and I wasn't there to comfort him, because I was sleeping at home. During Comfort Care the doctor and nurses told me he was not suffering, but I was puzzled at why the nurses would try to wake him when they turned him. One of them said to him, "Your favorite daughter is here!" (he only had one). His eyes opened but they looked up toward the ceiling. If they think he could comprehend them, then that means he could still think and anyone who can think is capable of suffering psychologically -- this thought bothers me. I know it's over now and there's nothing that can be done to change the past, but I woke up this morning thinking about more sad memories -- some things that weren't my fault but they're still sad. Of course, there are many more times that I was there for him, and you'd think that would give me comfort. I have lost other loved ones, but nothing prepared me for the loss of my father, because our lives were so intertwined.

Thank you so much, Anne, for your very kind and helpful message. I have just enrolled in Marty's online grief course which I'll begin tomorrow. I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm very glad that you found a caring grief counselor. One of the first things I tried was a free drop-in grief support group at Hospice by the Bay, which was helpful, but I only got to attend one meeting because the group was cancelled due to low attendance (only four people). I am currently attending a grief support group at St. Mary's Cathedral, but it meets only once a month. I understand that grief is not an illness, but my chronic insomnia and dependence on sleeping pills are a kind of illness, which is making my journey through grief extra difficult. I was taking Ambien 5 mg for insomnia for a full year before my dad died. Then my new doctor who doesn't like to prescribe Ambien gave me a prescription for Ativan 1 mg at bedtime. Little did I know that benzos are more addictive than heroin. I tried switching back to Ambien, but I've become tolerant to it. I'm only getting four or five hours of sleep per night -- I worry about rebound insomnia if I stop the pills. I was hoping a psychiatrist could help me wean off the sleeping pills and maybe provide some therapy at the same time, though not all psychiatrists do talk therapy anymore. My father was my main source of emotional support and I was his. I've never lived alone before. The therapists tell me I have to learn to live for myself, but it's an alien concept to me, because I grew up around lots of relatives. They're mostly gone now. I have my half brother and some cousins but they have their own lives and families, plus they live far away. They don't share my interests the way my father did. There's no guarantee that I will ever find someone who will love me. Guilt feelings are still tormenting me. I know my father wouldn't want me to feel this way, and even that creates more guilt feelings. I keep wondering did he have too much sodium that day or not enough water? I should have served him more vegetables! I shouldn't have served him that slice of chocolate cake at lunch. I should have started him on vitamin D sooner. Why didn't I make him exercise more! What if we had listened to happier music, instead of Pachelbel's Canon on the radio -- why did the radio station play that depressing song twice in the same week! We should have watched a musical instead of that morbid thriller. Was he watching it just to please me? It was a maelstrom of sad coincidences that last day at home. And yet my brave, sleep-deprived father could still joke and smile with the doctor and nurses later at the hospital. When asked if he needed anything, he replied, "Give me a beer!" Thank goodness I didn't give him alcohol. I really appreciate your comment on another thread: "we cannot be guilty if we have not done something intentional to hurt another person". God knows I didn't want my dad to suffer. If I could trade places with him in the grave I would, but then he would be alone like I am now. I regret the nights I left him alone in the ICU, because I had to go home to sleep. I thought they would keep a close watch on him. I am crying harder than ever before -- wailing in anguish and no drugs can help me because they cause more damage than good! I don't know if it's the grief, sleep deprivation or benzo withdrawal that is making me so depressed. Probably everything combined. Why did my dad have to be so sweet and lovable? -- he should have been a bitter old curmudgeon at his age. Then maybe I wouldn't feel so sorry for him. I can't stand the idea that he knew he was dying, and that there was nothing we could do. I had to tell him that he needed a heart operation. Why couldn't he have had a glimmer of hope to cling to? I tried to give him the illusion that he had a chance of getting better at the end, by telling him I couldn't wait to get him home so I could take care of him. He nodded, but I don't know if he was just humoring me. He was so good and so brave -- it must have been terribly sad and frightening, even for a man of faith. Jesus himself had his agony in the garden. I'm sorry if I'm demoralizing anyone -- but these are the negative thoughts that have been plaguing me. I know I'm supposed to be kind to my inner child, but I wonder if I just face the thoughts, and cry my eyes out, will they subside? I've heard how one has to go through grief, not around it. I don't blame my father for not wanting to go back on the ventilator. Aside from the discomfort, I read that anesthetics and sedatives don't refresh like natural sleep -- they just knock you out and make you think you slept. That means my poor father went ten days without good sleep. My father was on propofol for three days that he was on the ventilator. During the weaning period he received Fentanyl for sleep. Then during Comfort Care he was given morphine. I read an article on CNN that Michael Jackson may be the only human ever to go two months without REM -- rapid eye movement -- sleep, which is vital to keep the brain and body alive. The 60 nights of propofol infusions Jackson was given to treat his insomnia is something no one had ever undergone. I've gone two months now without natural sleep! -- over a year if you count my ambien dependence. I must be getting some REM sleep, because I dreamed about my father last night. I was so happy to see him alive, then I woke up. I have tried so many times to get help already: two grief support groups, three therapists, three doctors, four churches, three online grief forums. This forum is the best, the contributors are so wonderfully supportive -- I can't thank you all enough. It sounds like I really should try a grief therapist for individual counseling. Sending hugs to you.... Gigi

After my dad died two months ago, people were surprised when I didn't cry at the funeral. I was still numb from watching my father die in the hospital. When I did cry, it happened only in short bursts. I thought I would be crying myself to sleep, but it didn't happen, and still hasn't happened, which seems very strange, because I miss my father almost constantly and feel guilty that something I did or something I failed to do contributed to his death. I am worried that something is wrong with me, that I can't express my grief the way I used to in years past. I cried quite a bit after my grandmother and great uncle died in 1984 and 1998, respectively. I remember after I cried a lot for my uncle 17 years ago, there followed a period when I couldn't cry at all, not even at sad movies. Things that didn't use to bother me so much suddenly started to disturb me such as violent scenes in films or in the news. Eventually, my emotions returned to normal after several months. I loved my dad more than anyone, yet even though I am suffering more than I ever have before from grief, anxiety and insomnia, I haven't cried as much or as easily as I expected to. After my father died, I watched a documentary about grief which had some very sad scenes of children crying for their dead parents and still I couldn't cry. Now two months later, I have started to cry for longer spells and with more frequency and intensity, but still not as much overall as I expected. Maybe the Ativan and Ambien I'm taking for insomnia could be blocking my ability to cry properly. I remember my mother couldn't cry after her son died, because she was on a lot of meds for bipolar disorder. I"m thinking my sleeping pills could be making me anxious, but I need something to help me sleep. Since my dad died, I suffer from anxiety with electrical feelings in my arms and sometimes tightness in my throat. The psychologist told me that to reduce anxiety, I need to do things that make me feel good. Unfortunately, I'm also suffering from anhedonia so very few things give me pleasure anymore. When I think of almost anything I used to do while my father was alive, it makes me sad and anxious that the happy life I had with him no longer exists. I can't even eat certain foods that he liked, because he's not here to enjoy them with me. Of the three therapists I tried, I only cried with the younger female therapist. She just handed me a box of tissues and said, "You are still very emotional. I think you are suffering from depression." I want somebody to comfort my inner child, using phrases like "you are not alone", "everything will be all right", and "let go of your pain" -- but the therapists are too steriile. I guess I was expecting someone like Leo Buscaglia. I read that when we're stressed we tend to take short, shallow breaths, which makes the body pump out the stress hormone cortisol and heightens feelings of anxiety. When we cry, our breathing deepens. Deep breathing reduces cortisol production and lowers stress levels. Emotional tears contain a hormone called prolactin, which helps reduce stressful feelings and boosts the immune system. Last night I tried Glysom, which contains the amino acid glycine that is supposed to promote better sleep by diverting cortisol to more constructive purposes than alerting, among other things. I still only slept about four hours with 5 mg zolpidem and 3.14 g of glycine, but my throat feels better today. This morning I took an Ativan 0.5 mg to make me less anxious, because I think I'm going through benzo withdrawal and need to taper down slowly. I found a list of five simple ways to lower your cortisol levels without drugs: 1. Regular Physical Activity 2. Mindfulness and Loving-Kindness Meditation (LKM) 3. Social Connectivity 4. Laughter and Levity 5. Music I'm kind of skeptical, but next I'm going to try Emotional Freedom Technique, or EFT: http://eft.mercola.com/

When I saw my therapists they had clients waiting for their session, so more time wasn't an option.

Thanks again, KayC! I was listening to a program about grief and one lady said she hired a counselor right after her father died for a four hour session. All the therapists I've seen only offer 45 minutes, which is not enough time for me. The psychologist said he could only see me for 45 minutes once a week. Instead of telling me to comfort my inner baby, I wish he had spoken to the baby directly.