A week later ...
It's been a week and I'm still struggling. Still in Utah. I'm in denial a lot of the time, to be honest. My entire dad - leather biker jacket, favorite jeans, etc all fit into this little box on the table. We're going to sprinkle his ashes according to his wishes as soon as our brother comes here from Mississippi
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It's only been a week. It's going to take a while--months, maybe a year to three years. The thing is that there is no set time to heal. Grieving takes its own time, and if you try to hurry it--or if someone tries to hurry you--it will grab you and shake you like a pit bull shaking a rag doll.
Don't be afraid to tell all of us, friends and family, what you're feeling and thinking. Don't be afraid to say that you're broken, or that you're not broken. Don't be afraid to cry, laugh, rage, mourn--this is as natural as breathing. People who tell you you shouldn't are uncomfortable because society's been taught that grief is something to be fixed. It's not. It has to run its course. Don't let other people think they have to help you, even if they don't know how. Tell them what you need. If what you need is just to have someone sit and listen, say so. If you need a hug, say so. If what you want is to forget it all and go traipsing to God knows where with a friend . . . that, too.
People are never always on their best behavior when it comes to loss. The dysfunctional duo are going to implode sooner or later. Just remember; it's not your fault, and you can't control how they act. Just treat yourself well, and get away from it when you can.
Love you, my dear. All my good thoughts are with you right now.
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