Grandfathers and pies

Ugh! I just ate two pieces of pumpkin pie – one right after the other. So good, but I will pay later with some sort of ailment. I’m washing it all down with a glass of milk. I’m sure in some alternate world that this is all ok and that milk will make it all better. Although my tummy is gurgling like crazy.

So I’m sure you are wondering why the title. Well, one week and 29 years ago today my grandfather passed away. My grandmother mentioned it to me last week and I’ve been thinking about him all this last week. She told me that I went to visit him in the hospital the day he passed and that shortly after I left he went. I’ve wracked my brain to think of that day. To conjure up the memory, but sadly, I cannot. It bothers me. I remember every other time I had with him – and I spent a lot of time with him before he died, but I cannot remember that hospital visit.

I did not go to the funeral. My mother did not take me. I wish she did. As morose as it sounds, I would have liked to have had that memory. I miss him a lot. A lot.

So, again, you are probably wondering why this is all swirling around in my head; especially in a blog about anxiety and panic. Well, I’ll tell you because it made me realize something.

Shortly after my grandfather died, I went to visit my father. About a week before I came home, my grandmother came down and we all drove back together. Along for the ride with us was my grandmother’s best friend. We dropped her off and we had a day’s drive ahead of us to get home.

The morning we left I had a shower and I was in the bathroom combing out my hair and I started to think that I did not want to go home; that I wished my parents hadn’t divorced; that I wished I could be with my dad for more time. I got really worked up. I started to shake and then I became afraid and I started to cry. I must have been talking out loud because my grandmother opened the door and started to lecture me and my dad rushed in and told her to leave us alone. He hugged me and told me that he loved me and that everything would be ok.

That was my first panic attack. My first experience with anxiety. I did not like it. Not one bit. I’ve suffered with this malady ever since and I’m tired of suffering with it.

That day 29 years ago, the wet paper bag came into my life. I experienced it for the first time in that bathroom. It has grown up with me; been with me like a family member – one of the one’s you don’t like, but tolerate because you have to.

Well, I’ve discovered you don’t have to tolerate it – them – whatever or whoever. It’s time for the paper bag to be gone. I am divorcing you, breaking up with you, whatever you want to call it. Proceedings start today. Be prepared, because you will be served with notice to leave my life.