You're eyes are saying "talk to me, talk to me", but your attitude is "don't waste my time."
Being back in Montana again is strange. The day we got home, My Grandmother, Lela, died. My father was there with her. I'm glad he was the last thing she saw.
We flew back with supersonic speed, and met my father at the airport. He didn't look sad, but then again he almost never does. He greeted us with hugs and kisses, we picked up our luggage and drove to my other grandparents house.
Yesterday we went to see all of my other Mountain relatives. My cousin, Carrie, and her husband Travis had a baby 19 months ago, a girl named Marian. She's so big. She has two front teeth with a huge gap in the middle.
Everyone inherited something. She left me a lot of jewelry and memories.
Today, I couldn’t stand to clean out her apartment with everyone else, because as I walked into "Highgate" (her retirement home), which smells, feels, tastes, sounds, and even looks like death, a person in a red embroidered body bag, zipped up over their face, was being brought out on a stretcher into the back of a hearse. It was a bit too much for me. It hit way too close to home.
So I went up to the Rims, which is a huge cliff like thing on the other side of Billings. (Just go to Montana if you really care.) I hung out there. It was windy today, and when I leaned over the cliff's edge, the gusts would hold me up, saying "Fly Becca. Jump and we will hold you. Soar above the Earth and get away from all of this."
Obviously, I don't listen to the things the wind says.
(But I would have liked to.)
Eventually, I did go back to Highgate. I went back, I helped gather rugs and paintings and pillows, books, statues, shirts, dresses, pants, chairs, lamps, and shawls. I loaded the ones that none of us wanted into the three cars that we had all brought. (there were 18 of us all together.) And I drove them to the salvation armies where they would be sold to other people, who had no knowledge of the items previous lives.
Then we went and had Mongolian Bar-b-que.
Tomorrow is the funeral. I have to wear a black dress with red roses on it. They wanted me to sing, but I have a cold, so my mother said I wouldn’t. I think she knew that I might not be able to.
Sometimes it really sucks not being able to cry. The tears prick at the back of your eyes, begging to slide down your face, to rest on your lips in salty little pools. You want them to flow freely, but somehow you can't seem to make your tear ducts work properly. So you stand there, seeming emotionally cold, or spiritually devoid, while people who don’t really know you think you're odd.
Allie and I hung out both on the 13th and last Friday. It was really really good to see her. We watched Dickie Roberts and The Hunchback of Notre Dom, and she gave me a little stuffed sea otter, which I named Phebus. And we laughed a lot. Which is so easy to do with her. And I remembered why I love my friends so much.
So I hope your week was better than mine.
Thank you to everyone who prayed for or gave your condolences for my Grandmother
We flew back with supersonic speed, and met my father at the airport. He didn't look sad, but then again he almost never does. He greeted us with hugs and kisses, we picked up our luggage and drove to my other grandparents house.
Yesterday we went to see all of my other Mountain relatives. My cousin, Carrie, and her husband Travis had a baby 19 months ago, a girl named Marian. She's so big. She has two front teeth with a huge gap in the middle.
Everyone inherited something. She left me a lot of jewelry and memories.
Today, I couldn’t stand to clean out her apartment with everyone else, because as I walked into "Highgate" (her retirement home), which smells, feels, tastes, sounds, and even looks like death, a person in a red embroidered body bag, zipped up over their face, was being brought out on a stretcher into the back of a hearse. It was a bit too much for me. It hit way too close to home.
So I went up to the Rims, which is a huge cliff like thing on the other side of Billings. (Just go to Montana if you really care.) I hung out there. It was windy today, and when I leaned over the cliff's edge, the gusts would hold me up, saying "Fly Becca. Jump and we will hold you. Soar above the Earth and get away from all of this."
Obviously, I don't listen to the things the wind says.
(But I would have liked to.)
Eventually, I did go back to Highgate. I went back, I helped gather rugs and paintings and pillows, books, statues, shirts, dresses, pants, chairs, lamps, and shawls. I loaded the ones that none of us wanted into the three cars that we had all brought. (there were 18 of us all together.) And I drove them to the salvation armies where they would be sold to other people, who had no knowledge of the items previous lives.
Then we went and had Mongolian Bar-b-que.
Tomorrow is the funeral. I have to wear a black dress with red roses on it. They wanted me to sing, but I have a cold, so my mother said I wouldn’t. I think she knew that I might not be able to.
Sometimes it really sucks not being able to cry. The tears prick at the back of your eyes, begging to slide down your face, to rest on your lips in salty little pools. You want them to flow freely, but somehow you can't seem to make your tear ducts work properly. So you stand there, seeming emotionally cold, or spiritually devoid, while people who don’t really know you think you're odd.
Allie and I hung out both on the 13th and last Friday. It was really really good to see her. We watched Dickie Roberts and The Hunchback of Notre Dom, and she gave me a little stuffed sea otter, which I named Phebus. And we laughed a lot. Which is so easy to do with her. And I remembered why I love my friends so much.
So I hope your week was better than mine.
Thank you to everyone who prayed for or gave your condolences for my Grandmother