Monday January 7, 2019
Dear Papa,
Where are you when I need you? I’m in the depths of despair right now. I’ve had some challenges and I’ve no one to talk to about my grief.
I miss you so much, Papa. I wish I had another voice of reason, another person to tell my sorrows to, a soft shoulder to cry on. And I don’t have that. I need to keep all my pain, grief, sadness masked away. Act as if I am not bothered by anything. As if I don’t care. As if nothing is a big deal. But it’s not like that at all.
Because Lucia Crosson from Dress For Success died of cancer on Saturday December 22, 2018. And I’m sad & upset & completely grief stricken. Lucia who rallied around me in 2013 when I had my surgery and had women from all over Dress For Success send me loads of cards & well wishes. Lucia who introduced me to my former boss Marsha Goldford at CLBC where I’ve been working since November 13, 2008. Her kind manner, she always talked to me whenever I saw her at the Pot Lucks in August And December. I looked forward to them because I loved talking to her.
And mommy says I should stop posting about this because we were not bosom buddies. But I am sad and upset and I need a hug. I don’t have anybody to hug me, Papa. I want to be hugged. I want to be held. I want somebody to hold me while I cry.
All of my emotions are inside of me and I can’t let them out at home. Mommy doesn’t like crying or laughing or anything like that. Because it is seen as being like a maniac or a crazy person. I am supposed to control my emotions. Act as if I didn’t have any. A robot. Automaton.
But I have feelings. I feel more than others do. And I am frustrated at my current situation at home, Papa. The constant barbs & pricks @ my weight & lymphedema & my conversion to the Catholic Faith. To her my lymphedema is all self-imposed – it’s all my fault. And I never asked to have swollen legs. Because it’s so much fun – a barrel of laughs, really – to have to wear compression bandages all of the time just so your legs don’t constantly swell up. And I really enjoy the constant pressure in my feet even with the stockings on – that feel like a pressure cooker building up steam, unable to release it. Gee, golly that’s so much fun to have 24/7/365. I just love that constant pain.
I don’t have you to talk to. I am all alone. You are the last ghost to kill.
Love,
Tara Kimberley Torme
tktorme 