Yesterday I broke. I sobbed like I did when I was a kid, hyperventilating until my fingers tingled. It felt nonsensical and selfish, because even in death our relationship still flowers. Who he was set an example for me, taught me that I should be well-loved, and laid a solid foundation upon which I’ll be able to make many uncomfortable decisions with more relative ease. We had so many good times with Dad, especially in these last two years. My heart is so full, which is why I did not expect to be sad.
But I am sad. I want everything to stop until I am ready to go on. I know these feelings and have followed them to the sticky, inky pit they inevitably pull towards. These last two years have given me chances to practice acknowledging sadness without surrendering to despair. However, even with that practice it’s still difficult to walk this well-trod path and notice when I should stop.
Today we’re driving back home. I don’t want to go back. I know Mom is a strong, smart woman with loads of people to back her up. I know I am my parents’ daughter, and I have all the resources I need and more. I know these things, but I feel empty even as I feel full.
I am determined to continue on–right now I just don’t want to.