I’m coming clean. I’m fessing up. I’m not sugar-coating it and I’m not providing a polite, “I’m fine,” or “OK,” or “Alright” to the question of my well-being. I’m not (at least not to people that I know. Strangers, the checker at the grocery store? Fine, I’ll lie to them, but everyone else is getting the real deal).
The last two days have sucked. They’ve just been sucky in nearly every possible way. It’s been nine weeks since dad died. I know I’m still allowed to be sad. I know I’m still grieving, but everything about it just sucks.
Last night, I sat and played Candy Crush. And sobbed. It wasn’t even an especially difficult level, I just sat and played and had endless tears streaming down my face. Whatever. That’s grief – boom. Deal.
I wish time could stop. I wish I could pause the rest of the world and people and everything and just live in this pain and wallow and work through it. But I can’t. Everyone keeps going. Stuff keeps happening. And I have to too. Honestly, I wish I could go back to that day. I wish I could relive the phone call and sitting in the hospital. It sounds weird and maybe morbid, but it’s true. I want to relive the day because emotionally – at times (and definitely a lot of times during the last couple of days) – that’s where I am emotionally. Besides, it replays in my mind so often, I might as well just go back there for for reals!
I feel like, because it has been two full months, that I SHOULD put on my happy face and give people the socially acceptable answer. But, for whatever reason, I’ve lost the ability these past couple of days.
I know it doesn’t help that I’ve been sick. I came down with another bad cold last Thursday and felt lame all weekend. Then, Monday and Tuesday, I felt nauseous. I hate feeling nauseous. I’m tired. I’m worn down. I have a bunch of stuff for mom that I need to help figure out (administrative/legal stuff for my disabled brother, upcoming tax season, bills, etc.). I’m stressed. I’m just done and I want a break from my reality. (But I know she needs me and I, obviously WANT to help her and WILL help her. It’s just a lot. A lot).
This morning actually got off to a great start. We all slept well and Kayli woke up super happy. She kept putting down her cereal spoon this morning and jumping out of her seat to “shake her booty.” (Normally, I’d want her to stay sitting while having a meal, but the booty shakeage was cute and funny and a great way to start the day). My cold’s not too bad. My stomach wasn’t upset. Things were on the up and up. Then, I backed the car out of the garage and somehow totally drove the driver side-mirror into the side of the garage -- the red car plastic-whatever-it-is around the mirror crunch-smushed and broke. In the process I managed to take some paint and a small chunk out of the side of the garage as well.
When getting my lunch ready, I pulled greek yogurt out of the fridge. It fell – splattering yogurt on my pants, in the fridge and on the floor. As I walked to the paper towels an additional huge plop of yogurt fell off of me and landed on the floor.
That’s how I feel. I’m that yogurt plop on the floor.
Normally, a broken car mirror and spilled yogurt are lame; they’re not fun and they kinda frustrate you. But now’s not normal, and I don’t need a broken car mirror and spilled yogurt.
I’m whiney. I’m spent. I’m. Just. Done.
Poor Mike – and everyone who has to come into contact with me right now. I think he, in particular, is afraid to even ask the “So, how are you doing?” question. If I were him (or anyone else) I wouldn’t ask me either…’cuz you’re going to get an answer and it ain’t pretty.