Waves of grief come and go. There are some days when my sense of humor is intact, and others when I am utterly devoid of any levity. I'm not ready to write about the funeral. Not yet. That will come later, I'm sure. For now, I'm just trying to pick through the pieces of my day without dipping into one of these valleys when I start to cry for, seemingly, no reason at all.
That WASH-FM all Christmas, all the time radio station? Hell on earth right now. Christmas songs make me blubber like nobody's business.
I'm still very tired - and it's a exhaustion of the soul as well as the body. This is harder than when my brother died. I can't exactly say why. Each death is different. Each death carries with it a particular burden and particular memories.
Just a month ago, my sister told me she always thought of me as one of her kids, since she was old enough to be my mother. And maybe that is part of it. After our mother died, my sister Mary was the closest thing I had to a mother.
And losing that all over again is devastating.
Here I go again. Damn waterworks.
I am trying to embrace the holidays or whatever it is I'm *supposed* to do around this time. I put up my twinkle lights on the balcony yesterday, just before the wind kicked up and the temperature dropped. But my heart still isn't in it. I drove my best friend to the airport today, and I'm feeling suddenly very alone in a suburb bustling with last minute shoppers and general holiday mania.
I haven't bought a single present for anyone. My Christmas cards are stamped, but haven't been addressed.
I just feel empty. My own mortality weighs heavy on my mind.
This, too, shall pass. I know that. My logical mind knows that.
This. Shall. Pass.
Or, at least, it will lessen.
The loss never really goes away. It just gets buried a little deeper as each calendar page turns. Right now, I need the page to turn to the new year. And new hope.
And, on a very practical mental health note for this evening, I would love for the freaks upstairs to stop humping on the living room floor. They're giving my last nerve rug burns.
I'm so sorry you are in so much pain. I will send you good, healing vibes from across the ocean... ((HUGS))
There was a time when EVERYthing would remind me of my dad, and, every song, every errand. When my one aunt goes, I'll re-live my grandmother's passing (who was a very important parent to me). Making peppermint bark didn't help me this year get into the spirit, but I tried. So listen to, I don't know, something more visceral. I'm impressed that you have your cards stamped. Maybe there's something you can do, Christmasy, that'll bring some peace and/or joy, no matter how tacky or classy, and especially if it either honors some memory of your sister, or helps you forget for a nano-second (yeah, that can happen, really). Or, not. And, unless it'd be useful for YOU, there is no requirement to write about the funeral. I couldn't stand my father's, but I do hope your sisters was lovely for what it was. You do what works for YOU. I'm so sorry this is happening right now. I wish you ways to electrify your ceiling hehehe. And some sleep, if you're not getting enough.
M: Perhaps it isn't appropriate, but your last line in this entry made me laugh out loud. Even in the midst of your grief, you retain your wit and humanity in the face of inconsiderate behavior.
Grieve and be sad; it's okay. In the meantime, know that many of us are thinking of you and keeping you a little closer to our hearts right now. May the days and weeks ahead be filled with solace and peace.
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