My Father died. I'm totally alone now.

RIP

THOMAS GEORGE BOULANGER

MARCH 18, 1937-JULY 16, 2009

OMG I have just survived the most harrowing week of my life. My Daddy died on July 16th.
We knew this time he must really be dying. For the past two years we have been on the “death” watch as each time we left the hospital I was admonished to spend time with him because he was dying after all. Well, two years later and he did it. He died on me. I did not give him my permission. I didn’t want to be an orphan. That is what I am now. I have no parents. I am parent less. No more Father’s Day!! No more laying in bed with him just holding hands and reminiscing. Never again. That is so permanent.

I have no one left in this whole world who loves me unconditionally and that cuts me to the quick. Oh, those around me would say that they love me “unconditionally” but that is a lie. They might mean it, but I know that it isn’t true. I’m 45 I know the harsh realities. My family has all been keeping me busy reorganizing and cleaning and etc. I have cried a lot. But those tears are the ones that are “acceptable” tears. I haven’t had the good cry yet. The soul crying I know it is here it is always brimming up to the surface, bubbling and yet not allowed to be heard or seen. I need to do this in private.

David planned a vacation (during the time my Dad was put on hospice) for this week. He wanted to go to Canada. I didn’t plan to go. I went and did the passport photo’s and never really intending to go. If my Dad was alive I would stay home. He was going to be alive so all the cooperating with my husband was just my ruse. I was pretending to want to go.

My Dad died and now I’m on vacation. Does that make sense to you? My heart is broken and yet I trudge through all the tourist spots in Canada. I cry special tears because my Dad always wanted to come here. We talked about it a lot when I was a kid. He wanted to live here. It is gorgeous here. I feel a bit renewed. I feel sad too because I don't get to go home and tell him all about it. It crushed me one morning when I woke up and my first thought was "I can't wait to tell Dad."

I have been doing A LOT of soul searching this week. I go from guilt to sorrow to anger at my sisters and then back to the deep unending loneliness. I feel as if I have been set a drift. I have taken care of my Dad for over 7 years and just the past 2 years has he been really bed ridden. I could always use my Dad as an excuse for the in-law functions. If I didn’t want to do/be somewhere “MY DAD” worked. I am a hermit at heart. I love being home. I love it more than anything. I wish I never had to leave my home in reality. It might be a sickness but who knows. The only thing that would make me happier being home is if it took visitors to hop into a tractor to reach my home. No cars could go over the terrain. Alas, no tractors are needed.
I can’t remember if I blogged about my Dad’s premonition or not. I find myself thinking about my “home invader” and how I can best protect my family. Was it just my Father’s crazy talk, lack of oxygen or was it a real premonition and why would God warn me through him? Is something worse going to happen?

I can’t do worse. I can barely function in my daily activities. If it weren’t for my dogs I would lie in bed and not get up. My dogs still need to go out, they still need to be let in. I need to watch the Mommy’s and love on their babies. I’m an orphan dontcha know. I’m 45 and an orphan. I could feel sorry for myself if I allow it. Some people suck hard and they are still alive. My Dad was everything rolled into one person. My past. My history. Where I come from.

When my Mom died 22 years ago I was only 21 and didn’t even have any children of my own yet. I knew what her being dead meant. Nothing was to prepare me for my Father’s death. It is different this time. I know how permanent it is now.

My Father lived with me in my house with my family. Everywhere I went he went. My Father was my mentor, my guide, my companion and the best friend I will ever have in my life and now I have lost that. I’m not anchored. I feel like I’m floating. I wonder if this lack of connection is what a midlife crisis feels like. Haven’t had one. Never intended to anyway. I don’t want to seem like I’m not thankful for my kids and my hubby. I love them but now I’m rootless. I have no one backing me up from my past. My heritage, my people. My kids don’t appreciate what it means to be a Boulanger. They don’t appreciate it and aren’t willing to fight for what it stands for. Being a Boulanger means everything to me. I MEAN EVERYTHING. We are a dying breed, the heritage, pride and sense of loyalty is waning. I want it to mean something to my children. My sisters and I know that being a Boulanger means we can get mad at one another, swear them off until they call.

It is displaced loyalty where you know that NO matter what we have each others back. No matter what.

I don’t think I instilled that in my children. It is a feeling in your soul. Rest in Peace Dad. I will never forget you... I promise.

It is finished. My God, she is gone.

Well, here it is after eleven at night and I'm still up. I'm exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically. I mean fully drained.

Erica and I sat in the room where Valentina lay in a coma and sang songs to her, prayed every prayer we could find on the Internet. We sang so many songs I practically know them all by heart. We sat on her bed rubbing her feet, massaging her legs and anointing her with oil. Hours spent helping her prepare to leave this earth. You know, something strange happened to me for all the hours spent on the end of her bed, I sang really loud not ashamed of my bad singing voice. I know that God doesn't care about my pitch, I sang with my heart. It felt good, actually a relief to be free with the songs as a final gift to my friend.

It is a relief she is gone, I know she is not suffering any more. Nothing is worse than watching it. She was a hero in my book. She tried so hard to keep upbeat, to not take medicine, to try and meditate out the pain etc. Oh, I also know it is not for me. Please keep me doped up. I'm a chicken and if it is my last days I don't want to be suffering

The main thing I found was about myself. When I ask the question "Why me?" whenever I am called upon to be a caregiver, I'm actually making it about me. This had nothing to do with me. When I try to figure out why me? I’m losing focus on what it is I need to be doing. I gave her that which she asked for.. a peaceful place surrounded by those that loved her. We did it. I promised her "together to the end." All my family members were not with me on this. It didn’t matter, I gave my word and I stood my ground. Everyone sacrificed. She had my all in all. I shouldn’t be made to be ashamed to do what I do and yet I’m always made to feel like I have done something wrong. Caiti sacrificed by allowing (actually I didn’t give her a choice) her to stay in her room and bunk with her brothers and Erica. She has never had to share as she is the baby and the only girl. I plan to repaint her room and get her maybe a new window.

When the people came from the mortuary to pick her up they came in a mini van. I imagined the hearse from days of old. He showed up in a purple van. A van much like my own. Now when I see a van I'm going to wonder if it is in fact a death van. If you have not heard a song by Michael W. Smith called "I can only imagine". You need to download it and hear it. It is the song I have heard in my dreams, in my wake hours as well. I know this blog is all over the place but I'm all over the place in my mind. i have to find some pants now. Valentina asked me specifically to wear pants to her funeral. That will be the last thing I can do to honor her. I feel like wearing a skort because it is me. Not me trying to be something else, I feel claustrophobic something fierce in pants. I mean terrible claustrophobic. Tomorrow I will be onto something else. So much has been happening with all things Princess Petunia. Thank you God for taking Valentina home. We are not in charge and thank you for the reminder that it isn’t about me and never has been. This might be my last blog about Valentina. I’m sure I have said more than you have ever wanted to hear. Pray for her…. And me.

I'm entertaining angels? Yes I am.

No one needs to start off telling me how lame I am at keeping things posted, but I haven't had the time. When I'm down in the trenching I can't see too far beyond my noise. This writing will be of wild and wonderful of tangents, and probably won't make sense to everyone/anyone. I reckon i'm just writing for me. I need to vent.

All is good in the dog world.

My dogs are healthy; nothing weird and I thank God for that.

My plate is full already. What do I mean by that? My Dad is still being ornery as ever. He is crushing my spirit. Yes, I will die first. Yikes! With that being said, I think I should say I love my dad. He just is so mean and unappreciative. Nothing is ever right, not hot enough, not cold enough, too much ice, too little ice etc. You get the picture. Lots of people take care of unappreciative people and i know that it doesn't make me special or have a certain privilege to complain. I hope I'm teaching my children that when our generations get old they don't throw us away. We care for our own families. Except none of my sisters or brother will take my dad. I say "We are better people than that" and go about my day. Sometimes (depending on the amount of sleep I have been allowed to have) I'm actually thankful for the opportunity to be with him. He is mean but I know he loves me. Does that mean I wear the pork chop? He did something right because he is clean, well fed and sassy. One of my kids better belly up to the bar when it is my turn to be old. I will be a nice old person. I know the difference first hand. When he dies I am a real orphan. I'm old enough to understand all of this but sometimes when I am so weary I lose my focus.

**Valentina is a friend**

14 years ago my mean, old neighbor married a woman from the Ukraine who had a son. He was 8 when they moved in next door to me. They spoke no English. We home schooled our children and he learned everything right along with the kids. I love him as if he is my own. Well, we moved out to the country and away from the mean neighbor and his wonderful wife when their son went to college. A few months ago I find out he has divorced her and she is dying from stomach cancer. What a bastard right? It doesn't stop there. She is dying. There is nothing that can be done for her. You know what? I have never heard her shed a tear for herself. Not one. Of course I'm not with her 100% of the time but she has been so kind, appreciate and makes me actually happy to help her. Does that sound weird? I'm enjoying taking care of a dying woman? She is strong, stronger than I would ever be. I would cry and feel so sorry for myself. All the things I would miss out on. The grand kids, the graduations etc. She is weak.. so weak and yet she still tries to do everything for herself. She is just a skeleton now. Nothing but hanging skin on bones and it hurts me to look at her. At the same time I can't stand not to have her in my sights in case she needs something. Not everyone in my life has been happy with my decision to care for her until the end. I don't care. Now that is weird for me as I tend to be the consummate people pleaser. Taking care of her makes me feel loved some how. I see it in her eyes. I hear it when she calls me into her room at three in the morning because she wants to hold my hands and thank God for me in her life. Those things count to me. They count a lot. When my own Mom died I lied in the hospital bed with her as her life was slowly taken from me. I am not wanting to have regrets in my life. I make choices before I consult my immediate family and God knows my heart. I don't understand why I get called in such ways. It is not like I'm out looking for "strays" or people to care for. God brings them to my door. I just... I don't know. Valentina's friends came in number to see us (really her) when she was in the hospital the last time and her other friends have blessed me. She has the most excellent friends. Real women of God. Not phonies, but women who when they say that they are praying for her I believe them. You know, when people say "Oh, I'll pray for you" you wonder if they really will. These women (her friends) are incredible. God blessed her with such wonderful women in her life to make up to her for having such a (I want to type "evil" but can't bring myself to say that word) mean, selfish totally money loving man. Everything to him is about the mighty dollar. Sad, as someday he will have to answer for his behavior. Yikes! Does it sound like I'm judging him? I totally am, that way I don't have to look at me.

I think this blog is rambling along even more that I imagined when I started out because I didn't realize where I would go with it. God. All I can say is God. When I'm up really, really late with my Father and Valentina it is almost like I feel his presence in my life. I feel like he knows what I'm doing and thanks me in the wee hours of the morning. I haven't told any of my business associates of my care giving. I feel ashamed. Like they will judge me. What will they judge me on? Like I'm a patsy? A waste? A person who doesn't say "no?" I don't know why it is. I didn't even realize that I hadn't not told people for a reason. Am I ashamed to take care of the ill? am I afraid to look weak in the minds of my business associates? Now instead of being blessed by this I'm feeling ashamed of myself again. I am empowered when I help someone get what they want and don't what. We cutely call it "Mom is the facilitator" for Valentina.

Guess that is it for now except to say Erica has been such a blessing to me. When I'm totally stressed out or scared by Valentina's pain she comes into the room behind me and assures me I'm doing all the medications right, I'm doing the right stuff, Valentina really is that weak. When I am broken she comes in behind me and reminds me what a privilege it is to care for someone else. Hopefully if Cody marries her she will know how to take over the "Care giver" role. I don't want to go to a nursing home.