So you wake up one day and realize, to your surprise, that despite the death of your loved one, the world has kept turning quite nicely, time hasn't stopped, and it's time to catch up.
I was all set to show up back at work today or tomorrow when a virus-y thing knocked me out flat. So I'm in bed with the laptop, too awake to sleep but too achy and sore to get up, mustering every kit of energy I have to drink some juice or grab a Kleenex. God's way of saying I need a couple more days of R&R? Perhaps.
I imagine this feeling is pretty typical of individuals who have lost a close family member, but I'm basically numb and lazy. I see things that need to be done, and even if I were feeling up to par physically, I know I wouldn't do them. Do laundry? No way. Watch reruns of "Pawn Stars"? As long as someone else can handle changing the channel on the remote for me, I'm there.
So many thoughts are running through my head. Where is my dad now, and what's he doing? Is he with his mom? My former father-in-law told me last week that when we get to Heaven, we don't recognize the people who were once in our families as being our family members; we just love everybody. I really hope that's not true. I want my dad to know his mother. And his brother. And my mom.
How can he just not be anymore? A week ago, I was cutting his nails. He was eating ice cream. The next day, I watched him die. Like bazillions of people before me, I just don't get it.
Friends are telling me to be patient with my emotions, to pamper myself. I guess I am, in that I'm running a fever and can't really get out of bed. But I don't feel like pampering myself; I feel like getting back to normal, whatever that is. Working. Cooking. Cleaning. Exiting the death zone.
But for now, I can't, so I'm just lying here, gobsmacked ... blowing my nose, sucking on cough drops, and wondering what in the world is supposed to happen next.