I think

I think life is fragile, incredibly beautiful, complex and heartbreaking. I think loss is a fact of life that comes on its own terms, which sucks. I think moving forward after loss as fast as we can is a fallacy that we buy into, because we have no choice in the matter...or at least we've come to believe we don't. Just the word 'move' insinuates that it's a smooth process, when it's anything but. And that sucks.

Finding a good balance during difficult times is tricky, like climbing a mountain without the proper equipment. Loss is that one slip that leaves you completely undone, and tumbling into an abyss. 'Abyss', the only word I could think of that totally encompasses such a dark place as this place I find myself in. Again. I'm learning and relearning, to live life after death, and still I haven't quite caught on to the 'how' of it. Damn, I mean, I was still trying to find a good grip after mom and then Kenny, and now here I am again, walking around in a funk, trying to function like someone who's moved on, because it's the thing I'm told I should be doing, and I'm doing very badly at it. It's like a game, and I'm playing without really understanding the rules, and society always has rules. We tend to do what's expected don't we? On the outside anyway, where no one can see in. And the stuff that goes on inside, is a completely different animal all together. Isn't it? I don't know if anyone reading this can relate with what I'm saying, sometimes I don't even understand it enough to pull it out of my heart where it can make some kind of sense, and yet, here I am. Time does what it does, but for me, it never does it quite right. I'm left practically vibrating with anger, longing for yesterday, aching for tomorrow; for hope and healing...frustrated beyond belief for something. I no longer even know what.

I went to the cemetery a couple of weekends ago, and I took two bouquets of flowers, one complete with autumn colors for Dad, and a bouquet of roses for mom. I couldn't believe I was staring at Dad's tombstone, and that he was not home, in his beloved recliner watching Two and a Half Men. I literally fell to my knees and allowed a wretchedness to take hold of me. When someone we love dies it should hurt dammit! A soul deep, drop-down-to-your-knees, can't-quite-catch-your-breath, can't-focus-can't eat...can't-stop-emotionally-bleeding, kind of hurt that should take a lifetime to fully heal. Does that make sense? You know it's not even two full months since Dad's passing and I actually had someone come up to me and say, "All better now?" What does that even mean? Should I be all better now? With our advancements in technology, we are pushed to keep up and to move forward with the rest of the sheep, in every aspect of our lives. Heaven forbid that we should slow down for those no longer able to keep up -- hell no! We've got appointments to keep, work that needs to be done, good friends to visit...life is calling. In today's world, sickness and death is treated like an inconvenience, and grief a damn nuisance, as it keeps people from doing what everyone else thinks they should be doing instead. Grieving takes time, and word on the street is, no body has time to hang in there during the process of it. Speed grieving is the latest phenomena. And this kind of world makes me sick.

I believe dad is in a better place, but knowing that does not soothe me. He's not here talking about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie or healthcare...so dammit this shit hurts and we are supposed to feel it and not override our feelings with the ridiculousness of speed grieving, which everyone seems to be into these days. And for those of us who can't keep up...well, we just emotionally fold into ourselves. Kind of like being packed away in a box and forgotten about...or tossed in a mental institution somewhere. Sometimes I see people on the streets of Seattle...not necessarily homeless, but definitely lost. Sorrow is etched in the lines on their faces. Are they the ones left behind to deal? Was life too much for them? Will I become them?

The house wasn't paid for and we had to let it go. That hurts. We kept some of Dad and mom's things of sentimental value, and with a lot of difficulty sold items via Craig's list. That hurts. We packed some stuff away in little boxes and some family members nearly tripped over them in their hurry to get back to their own lives and their own way; to start this insane process of moving on. I'm not saying it's either wrong or right. I'm just left thinking...how sad.

I can't stand this because for me, helping Dad became a part of my life. So now what?