I've wanted to write these last few days. I have.
The last thing I wrote was my father's obituary. I don't know if I've felt I could form any coherent words since then. Not in pen form, or spoken... Hell, I can't seem to even function coherently.
I am stuck in Monday. It's like that movie, Groundhog Day. I keep reliving Monday. Willing the elevator to go faster. My sister texting me- "hurry now". Making it to Dad's room just in time to see him take his very last breath. Holding his hand. Stuck in Monday.
I'm completely surprised at my own inability to handle grief.
I cry a lot. Of course I do, right? It's normal.
I walk through the grocery store crying. I cry in front of my son (goddamnit.. I'm not supposed to do that.. he's too tender..). I cry each night while trying to watch tv, or read, or sleep. I cry at the bank drive-thru, the Dunkin drive-thru. I cried while trying to cash in returnables. I cried while dropping Dawson off at Ben's house yesterday.
Why can't I stop crying inappropriately?
At first I tried to cry in my stolen moments... In the bathroom. In my bedroom. At night, away from the children. In the garage at my computer desk. Sitting alone in front of the fire yesterday.
And I did plenty of it. It's not like I held it back too much, and this is the result.
I just cry, quietly, without any control over it. It doesn't matter where I am, or who I'm around.
I need to get back to work tomorrow night. We're completely broke. But how? I know I will just be crying into people's beers and beverages. Right in front of everyone. "Hi, what can I get you? (blubber, blubber, blubber)"... Jesus.
And as the week has gone on, I've also gotten angry. Really, really frickin angry.
I want to break stuff or beat someone. But I don't.
I've thought about going to my back yard and yelling, hollering, swearing and screaming. But that would scare the shit out of my mother next door.
Seriously though... I've never been so angry. And I don't know how to release it.
Again, I'm taken aback by my inability to cope with grief.
When my Bampa was dying, I remember standing outside Sunny Gables apartments, where my grandparents lived, talking to Ben (Dawson's Dad)... As he hugged me, he said something like- You're the strong one of the family, you'll get through this, and you'll help them... He misread me.
I wasn't the strong one then, and I'm not the strong one now. Such a joke. Such a fallacy.
And I don't have some desperate need to "be strong".
I just want to stop fucking crying. I just want to be able to actually function normally for a day, for christ sake. I want to be able to express my love to my children and husband. I want to be able to have a normal conversation, with anyone. I want to be able to focus on a tv show or a book, or a grocery list, or anything. I want to be able to eat and sleep. I don't want to feel consumed anymore. It's like I'm losing my mind.
I'm surprised at my own inability to handle grief.