April 24th, 2003

soft head shot


Grieving seems to hit when you least expect it and least have time for it. I'm taking care of everything in preparation for the movers tomorrow and it's killing me. This is Grandma's apartment. Daddy should be dealing with this, not me. This should be his problem, not mine. And yet here I am, stressing, planning, and hurting. I spent a bunch of yesterday in or near tears.

I expected this to hit me by my being upset that Grandma is gone, but it didn't. She needed to go. It was her time. It wasn't his time, dammit! He was only 55! There was still so much he needed to do, wanted to do, deserved to do. And now I'm alone. I have to be a full fledged adult and I don't have anyone to lean on, really. Yes I have friends, yes I have a 90 year old great aunt and 90 year old great uncle, but I don't really have anyone to lean on. I can't collapse. There isn't anyone around to pick up the pieces.

Every now and then in my pain, other thoughts surface. Thoughts about that guy I met, Mr Inflamer. I still haven't heard from him, and I just checked his journal description of when we met. He edited it. Changed things. I'm not sure of all the changes, but I noticed at least one deletion. So what the heck does that mean. I just wish I knew where he stood (sat, lay down, whatever). This uncertainty is not fun. True, he isn't in my thoughts as often as he was the week or two after we met, but he's still there. That connection I felt. I don't know.

Ah well, back to the old grind of work.