Three Years In: A Phoenix Rising

Yes, I used AI to generate a graphic for the blog. Get over it!

Today, the third anniversary of Pop’s death, I am quiet. I am reflecting on a journey that took me from a hospital room in Corinth to the depths of a broken heart, and finally, to a place of reclaimed grace. I have fought to be a phoenix rising from the ashes, and today I stand on solid ground.

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The First Year: The Battle and the Break

The first year was defined by a brutal fight for Pop’s dignity. I had failed in Pop’s quality of care at a local hospital when he went into the psych unit for reevaluation and meds for his Alzheimer’s. I say "I had failed" because that is how I feel, though I would learn that I was doing the best I could with the resources around me.

After he fell, I finally got him safe, only to learn he had a broken hip. He survived emergency surgery despite an evil heart, only to wake up still trapped in hallucinations. He struck a nurse; he hit me. To see my father’s hands bound was a trauma I will never forget, but I didn't leave him. I lived at that hospital. When he finally understood what had happened, he told me. He went to rehab but could not ambulate. Hospice was our only answer. Despite a snowstorm and a lack of resources, we moved Pop from Tupelo to Iuka to join Mama on New Year’s Day. I kept my promise: she was so happy to see him.

But when the legal system failed, and I couldn't find a lawyer, I broke. I was utterly broken because I felt I had failed my father. I was in my galvanization period, being tempered by the flames of life.

Pop died on January 20, 2023, when my back was turned for a second to accept a soda. It was not even 10 AM. He went quietly, and the story after that is my own: I can share it when I choose, but it's my story. I loved him more than words and life - and he knew that. I miss you, Pop. On my bad days, this is the picture that makes me laugh, reminding me of my Pop. He's reminding me to keep going, not give up, and it's a perfect message to those who hurt me or get in my way. We called it the "Hendricks Family Sign" since I was a girl!

The Second Year: Reclamation, Release, and the Saga of Silence

The second year was about learning to breathe again. I went back to graduate school at fifty-three and aced my Praxis tests, earning Master’s-level certification in Special Education. I returned to my writing and reconnected with my partner, Sandy. Through family betrayal, I learned to let go of Cedars. It was a noose of family failures; my destiny was cast with David in Corinth.

The most heartbreaking thing in this second year, however, was the saga with my son. We are now No Contact, that hot-take psychological "answer" to a generation that cannot communicate. He has his perception, and that is his space. He has wronged me, yet I will never stop saying I love him and that I know he will be a great father to Henry. To his partner: your recent attack on me failed. I have the tools, resources, and education to survive such juvenile and petty attempts. Go in peace: that is your own journey. Learn that you cannot fix or change people: that's the #1 hot take from a veteran!

The Third Year: Validation and Grace

I have learned the power of verbal validation through Dana. Hearing "I love you" changed my life. I have found a deep, honest community with Jill, Robert, and sweet Cat. Mama has had two strokes, and I do my best for her.

Officially forgiving my brother was one of the most important things between years two and now. It was a healing balm to my soul - because forgiveness is required in the Christian faith, it also is for our own sakes.

Today, I reflect. I will say a rosary for the person who hurt me the other day. This week, I return to my hometown of Griffin, Georgia. I want to hug my friends and godchildren and tell them I’m doing well. I am officially, finally, leaving the past behind, but I will write stories, I will immortalize people in fiction that were so good to me, and I hope those stories live on forever. To quote Dana, "I love you" has become okay to say to people authentically. Thank you.

A Personal Note on Health

On a personal note, I have lost almost forty pounds. It was a slow, intentional process of giving up sodas and embracing water, hot tea, and acupuncture. I am still overweight, but I do five-pound goals. I have another fifty to go, but my goal is to focus on just five pounds at a time. I’ve learned that the most critical health investment is joy.

To Anne on the Fourth Year of Pop’s Death:

You will be working full-time, you'll have more people in your life, you will be smiling, and you will still be growing. You will have had four books and two anthologies under your name, and you should be proud. Keep writing: people need your voice. Do what I recommend: invest in you and your world, and you'll see the returns. You got this: it's the legacy of Pop.

My Third Year Wish

If I see my brother, I only want one thing: to tell him I love him and ask him to pray with me. I don't know what our future together holds, but I want to start the healing journey if he's willing. I love you, Robert. I always have.

Conclusion: The Smell of Ashes

I was in the center of the fire. I was being consumed by the trauma of Pop’s final days, the failure of the medical system, and the sheer weight of a legacy that felt more like a noose than a heritage. While I was in the heat of that "galvanization period," hitting rock bottom and being tempered by the flames, there were those who didn't offer a hand or water.

Instead, they stood on the edge of the smoke, complaining about the scent of the wreckage. They came blaming me for the smell of the ashes, never realizing that the ashes were the only thing left of the woman I used to be. They were so offended by the aftermath of my survival that they never bothered to see the fire itself.

But here is the truth: the fire that burns the old self away is the same fire that forges the new one. You can blame me for the ashes all you like, but I am the one who walked out of the flames. I am the one standing fast in Corinth, with David by my side and a voice that is finally, undeniably, mine.

I am no longer burning. I am galvanized. And the smell of smoke? That’s just the scent of a victory you weren't brave enough to witness. This is one of the many projects I am working on... I have my pen, my life, and I'm - is it possible - I am actually happy!

#life #middleage #caregiving #Alzheimers #Dementia #grief #depression #nocontact #fathers #daughters #weightloss #amwriting #librarians #teachers #families #deathanniversaries #memoir