On Gasps: A Reflection in Three Parts

Catching my breath is tough right now. And I mean that physically, not figuratively, however I suppose it can cut both ways seeing as I feel so far behind at both work and home. 

But physically, breathing is just a challenge. A good, full deep breath is a rare occurrence in these first few weeks following Dad's passing. I wonder why that is? Shouldn't I be exhausted and ready to crash (and therefore wake up refreshed)? Shouldn't I feel peace and closure following the funeral? Shouldn't I...? Guys, these are rhetorical questions, by the way. I know the answers. I just still feel the need to ask myself. 

Now, it's not like my everyday breathing is erratic or anxious either, it's just this odd pattern of almost unsatisfying half-breaths - enough to keep the oxygen flowing, but not enough to give my lungs a good rich hug - a feeling that I typically find so satisfying. No, to get THAT feeling to my lungs, I have to force a tear inducing gasp like yawn. And when I do, it's almost painful, sounds dreadful and I really don't know how Chris (my husband) can tolerate sitting in the same room as I, knowing I'll be yelp-yawning in a matter of moments.

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I'm guessing I was 8 - give or take a year, when I heard a noise on Christmas morning I will never forget. It replays in my memory bank in periodic moments and contrary to what you might assume, it's a sound that brings me great comfort. And for most of my lifetime, when I've heard it, I've heard LOVE. Since January 5th, though, I've heard this noise replayed with great frequency and now when I hear it, I still hear love, but I also hear heartbreak and longing. 

You see, on this Christmas morning, Dad opened a special package. I vividly recall helping Mom wrap this package - it was rather large and there was no roll of wrapping paper that fit the box appropriately so we wrapped the box, quilt style, using fragments of wrapping paper scraps from years' past. I can't imagine the amount of tape that was used. I remember being SO EXCITED for him to open this package - truth be told, I don't think I remember knowing if I even knew what was inside the box. I just knew I had a hand in wrapping this special gift. OOOH. The excitement. I have goosebumps just remembering the anticipation!

On Dad's realization of what was inside this package, this is when I heard the noise: a Gasp. It was accompanied by a shudder and a gentle tilt of the head that Dad would do at his most affectionate moments. It was a newly framed portrait of his Mother, as an infant. She'd passed away a few years before. I was much too young to understand all the raw emotion of this moment. Even when I thought I grasped as an adult, I was wrong. It was only this month that it clicked: why I heard what I heard and why it has stayed with me all of these years. It's the gasp a child makes when he or she yearns for the human connection of their parent.

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Now, I haven't yet had any momentous gifts like the one that induced "the gasp" but there have been moments:

1) A delivery of Honeybell Oranges, ordered by Dad along with an electronically signed card elect by Dad,  that were delivered on January 8th, three days after he passed.

2) Stumbling on a hastily written email draft, written January 3rd - in which I'd sketched out talking points to keep me focused on what would I didn't know would be my final conversation with Dad, but was one I knew needed to strike a certain tone because he was suffering so badly. I had minutes to prepare. 

I love you
You need to fight
There is still work to be done here and we need you 

3) A glance at the portrait of my Grandmother that catches my eye, now and again (our home became her residence when Mom and Dad downsized in 2004 - for this, I am so grateful). But she does cause a catch in my throat in these recent weeks more than in past years. 

4) Walking into "Pop's Garage" and, on his work bench, locating a cup of recycled twist ties - you know, the ones from loaves of bread? They'd been straightened, just so. There was also a collection of key rings, tchotchkes removed, and these would be tools were placed strategically, waiting for that moment they'd come in handy.

And, yes, I gasp in these moments. 

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So, yeah, catching my breath is a little tough right now.