As I tackle, day by day, the small pieces of Daddy's paperwork, the estate minutiae, the incremental transfer of responsibility to the next generation, I find myself wondering:
Did Daddy ever feel overwhelmed by the responsibility?
Or did Daddy find comfort in assuring himself that all was attended to?
Or, perhaps, both?
I hope that Daddy did not feel as though we took him for granted.
He took care of everything so quietly, so smoothly, that it was easy to overlook all that he did for us. And I know that I try so hard to take care of everything so quietly, so smoothly, that sometimes I do feel as though the things I do may are overlooked.
I'm a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps, though, it is because I am trying to attend to all of the paperwork, while standing on the edge of the Daddy-shaped hole in the world. It is dark here, and windy, and I feel very much alone.
Grieving is a funny thing. It's been seven weeks now - not even two full months - and the rest of the world has gone back to its regularly scheduled programming. No one asks how we're doing any more; it's assumed we're just moving forward. Which we are, I suppose.
I don't know what to do with the sadness that wells up, nor with the urge to sit and dissociate because I cannot bear to actively acknowledge my own thoughts. Driving is tricky, not because driving is difficult or distracting, but solely because the car seems like the only safe place to cry but I don't want to arrive at any destination a waterlogged fright. Only let a couple of tears out. Save the rest. What is the point of crying? There is no one there for solace. And yet, I do not really want someone there, because I need a moment when I can pay full attention to my own feelings without feeling obligated to tend to someone else's.
Just me and my feelings. We are an awkward couple right now, an arranged marriage. We need to learn to tolerate one another's company better.
It will get easier eventually. I hope. Right now, though, things are hard, and I am sad.
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