yeah... still on the mend...

You can tell... whether or not someone has lost someone close to them. Not because they say all the right things or know the magic words to make you feel better. Survivors know what not to say... and what not to ask. Over the last two weeks there is one question over the others that just seems worse. Now, I know that nobody means any harm or hurt by asking, cause they really do care and are concerned and simply just don't know what else to ask. One might assume the question would be the first ones asked. The shock filled wonder of any sudden event... What? Who? However, in reality, those don't bother me so much, maybe because I myself don't totally believe the what or the who. The question that gets to me the most... How are you doing?
It hurts because I don't know how I am doing. I only know how I am not doing. I would love to say that I am fine... that I am getting back into the swing of things... that I don't cry much anymore... that it doesn't hurt to breathe... but I'm not... I am nowhere close... I do cry, a lot... and it does. So if I simply respond, "I'm okay" please don't pry. I don't want to talk about it. Talking leads to thinking. Thinking leads to tears. Tears just bring more pain.
I don't want to discuss how I thought it would be at least a little bit easier by now. That I wouldn't still hope or look for any evidence that he isn't really gone.
I don't want to discuss that I can't sleep. No, I am afraid to sleep. Afraid of the inevitable and the possibility that comes with sleeping. The inevitability that I will wake up another morning to face another day and to put on another "show". But the possibility is worse. Most nights I dream about him. Dreams of better days past. Dreams about hopes and wishes that are now impossible. Dreams so real, waking up, the real world seems like a dream and dream life seems real. The painstaking amount of time that it takes every morning to convince myself of what is real and what is no longer anything more than a memory. Even worse are the dreams and I guess day dreams recalling that morning. My door opening. My mom's face. My dad's cold hand. However, the worst are the dreams that I could have done something. That I could have notice a sign, seen something that I hadn't before.... that I could have saved him.
I try not to think about it during the day. I try to stay strong for my mom and my younger siblings. I try to stay strong for me. But it is hard. Going to to church without him. Coming out of my room and hot hearing him hum some gospel song. Smoking a cigarette before pulling the car around. Sitting in our seats, singing the songs. I couldn't sing because in every song, I heard his voice loudest of all. Sunday afternoon. When he use to putz around in his workshop is now silent. Sunday nights when we would silently battle who could stay up longer. To win and see the light go off under my door and hear him walk to bed. To lose and fall asleep to the sound of his TV. Now it is just a cold, dark, silent and lifeless garage. Monday morning. Monday mornings terrify me now. While most of the world hates Monday mornings I use to love them. Mondays were my favorite days. Mondays were our days. Mondays were something we shared. A small thing in common... a day off... a day home... together. Mondays were something I looked forward to. Now, I don't look forward to much. I can't tell whether it is the house that is now cold, dark and empty or if it is the people living in it.
Today I went with my mom to do some paperwork and official business. My dad once said he was worth more dead than alive, and I guess, if you look at the dollar amount, he might be right... but I would rather live on the streets, starving, freezing with nothing as long as he was there with me. It all just seems so unfair.
Also, I am surprised at who truly seems to care. There are two people in particular that I was surprised to see that they even still in last day, text me to see how we are holding up and one, who numerous times has told me his shoulder is ready and waiting for when I need it. These two people I have known for a while but never really thought of them as friends. I was wrong. And on the flip side. There are people who I thought the world of and now realize, they are really nothing special, and again I was wrong.
Lastly, through all this it has been brought to my attention how much a card or flowers mean to the soul. That they really do make you feel loved. I want to get better about cards and letters. I want to be a better daughter. A better sister. A better granddaughter. A better niece. A better cousin. A better friend. A better person. To not let the petty past torture my soul. To let go of the things I can not control and actually live life.
Love, K