My son looked out the window this morning and said, "Yep, we need snow pants." 20.3 inches...everything is closed - even Dunkin Donuts. School is closed again tomorrow, but the plows have been through, so everyone should be back at work. My bird bath in the corner.
Not sure how to write this, or if I should write it, but it could help.
I used to try to not step on cracks so my parent's wouldn't die. I know, this also signals a sort of disorder, but I did it and it didn't work. We know they will die one day, but we really don't believe it. So, how does it feel? Each death is different, so the feelings are different. For me, my Dad's death was like a kick in the stomach. Unexpected. It brought me to my knees. Perhaps if he was older or if we weren't so close, the kick would have been lighter, but this really hurt. He was the one person who "got" me. We talked every day and I felt so alone when he was gone. I would try sending messages to my friends, but they were tired of hearing about it and I can't blame them, but this didn't help. I've never told anyone this, but I used to call his voice mail at work, just so I could hear his voice. If he was reading this, he would be rolling his eyes now, saying "drama!"
I'll spare you the details, but you get that phone call, the one from the police. I lived 5 minutes away, so I was there to see him being worked on. I knew it was over when one of the paramedics stopped squeezing the oxygen bag, but they still make you go to the hospital and sit in that "room." The bad news room, with dim lighting, and lots of tissues. I went into the room with the curtain and hugged him and made a scene. I made other people cry, but all I could think of was how grateful I was his body was still warm. The funeral planning takes over and then the relatives arrive. What's odd about this time is how calm you are. People think you are fine, but I think your body just takes over and you go through the motions. It's 2-3 months after where you really break down.
I broke down; cried at work, in the car, in the aisle at Hallmark during Father's Day, in the bathtub, and I wrote my friends long, tormented emails. I consider my grief for him interrupted because 4 months later, my Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer and died in a month. I won't go into that today, but it's what makes this experience more horrible. Each anniversary is easier, but it's like a scar that never heals. I can't move on or erase what he meant to me, and I think grief books try to break it down into a plan; first you do this and then step 2, and soon all will be right. Well, it's not right. I feel incredibly lonely. I resent my husband's family, and feel they gang up on me. I've been through a year of grief therapy with a former hospice nurse, and spent months in a hospice grief group - all helped, but you are never the same. What angers me the most, is that I lost the feeling of security most people have. You don't know what it is to lose this until it's gone, but I don't believe nothing bad will happen; if someone is in the hospital, they will probably die. If we get in a car accident, death for someone. I know this is not "normal," but that is what I am left with. I do feel more compassion and an understanding for what life is about. I do forget and not appreciate things, but I think it has made me a better person overall. This may be my worst post ever, but I am not editing this because I wanted it to be free flowing thoughts. This is my day, thank you for listening.
I miss posting here and reading your blogs. I also know you are probably sick of hearing that. I got this little guy in the mail from Courtney, she made him and I love how perfect he is. The kids want to play with him, but I say no. She sent this to say thank you for the Lost peg dolls she won. Thank you Courtney, you are very sweet.
Tracey had a fine time with Edward. She calls it The Sisterhood of the Traveling Edward. I can't think of cool names like that. You can also view and join the Flickr pool here. Crystal, do you have him now? My mind is mush today.
I'm still preparing for school. I may have been the one sobbing in Target picking out 3 boxes of 8 pack crayons.