I hate today.
Ok that’s a little extreme, I don’t love today, how’s that?
It’s this death thing I’m having so much trouble with. Because even though I’ve lost more friends than I can count over the years somehow it’s just not the same when it comes to losing my Mom.
I hate whining.
And I feel like every time I talk/think/mention/cry about this thing called grief I’m getting on everyone’s nerves.
Is this the way it all works? Is this part of the grieving process?
I don’t know what to do.
I mean yeah, there’s tons to do like having to go through all my Mom’s stuff, finish writing Thank You notes to people and believe me, as much as I love to write, these cards are way harder than I expected because I can’t do what my sister-in-law suggests and just sign our Family name, I have to personalize each and every one which turns into tears hence the reason they aren’t all done yet.
My remaining Family, my Dad and 2 brothers seem like it’s no big deal. That’s not true, I know they are all grieving in their own way but their own way doesn’t weigh much these days.
Infighting has begun.
What are we going to do about 86 year old Dad? He’s the definition of independent and always has been. He was born in 1927 to an unmarried woman who died by the time my Dad was 2 years old. That’s the story we were given,although there’s some big gigantic family secret one of my Aunt’s promised she’d tell my Mom “one day” but that Aunt died before she revealed the secret.
We think the secret is that my Dad was born out of wedlock but we figured that one out a long time ago. Plus we have these old pictures of my Dad’s relatives that leave no room for doubt that we are related, I mean ‘Aunt Becky’ looks exactly like my older brother if he was a girl (ok, so I guess I resemble her too) and ‘Uncle Max’ may or may not be my Dad’s grandfather because he looks scarily like my Dad when he was younger. And then there’s my Dad’s twin brother who supposedly died when he was less than a year old. My Dad’s sister looked nothing like anyone in the family and the rumor is she was adopted, or she was another born-out-of-wedlock baby but her birth certificate said she was born in Italy.
I hate family secrets.
I also hate when I ramble.
My Dad doesn’t know how to show love and hides behind sarcasm, jokes, and crankiness. He wants to live alone. Relatives who shall remain nameless think he should be declared mentally incompetent. To them I say Fuck You.
Yes he is dipping his toes into the pool of Alzheimer’s but I’m an expert on the subject after taking care of my Mother-in-law till the day she died, my Dad has a long way to go to get anywhere near the severity she suffered. And I call or check in on him every day.
I don’t know how to do this.
I’m tired of crying.
I’m control-less and not ashamed to admit I’m completely lost as to how to handle this grieving process.
I know there’s books out there about the stages of grief but I can not bear to even think of reading about it, I just want to bury my head in the sand forever.
I’m sorry to babble incoherently, but somehow, it helps.
I think I need to regroup.
I also think, no I know, I need a hug.