Laid Low

Yesterday was the memorial for Cousin Al.  A room packed with more than 300 friends, family, loved ones.  We should all be so lucky.

I am laid low with grief.  In the moments when I'm not tending to my boys, I oscillate between disbelief and shock, still - I can't believe that we're never going to see Cousin Al again, that he is really and truly gone.  That a life and spirit that was so big, and touched so many people (seriously, how many people would come to my memorial?) could be taken so quickly.  I can almost convince myself that it's not true, and then I replay that phone call from Momma D and I'm taken back to that moment, a moment I'm still reeling from.

I still feel with every atom of my being that this is profoundly unfair.  I know the purpose of a memorial is to focus on that person's life, and the many, many ways that he touched other people and their lives were made better for knowing him.  But I am raw with the injustice of this, and the memorial and the many speeches that were a testament to what a great spirit Al was and is still, only served to flay me anew, to lay bare the great, raw wound that is living with the knowledge that my kids will never be able to have their, giant, tattooed Uncle Al show them how to take things apart, the finer points of metal and punk, where to get good barbecue in Nashville, and how to siphon gas and be a bada**.

He was so sweet.  A faithful commenter on my pathetic Instagram feed consisting of pictures of my kids and food.  So interesting, well-read, learned, and accepting.  I'm going to miss him so much.

Fin.

The right way

I keep feeling like there's things that I should be doing during this time. Like I should be crying more or I should be still more or I should not be laughing or making time for friends. It feels wrong that life has resumed a fairly regular rhythm and I feel like I'm being judged for not wearing a mantle of grief all the time.

I know that I'm in shock. It really doesn't feel real. I know that as different significant dates pass (holidays and the like), there will be more grieving to come. Grieving is really a process that's different for everyone...but I can't help feeling guilty. I think that in Western, capitalist-driven culture, we're not really given a lot of time or space to be quite and reflect and be present and still in our emotions. I know that I'm particularly guilty of that in my day-to-day life, whirling from one item on my task list to another. I know that this tendency has been exacerbated by the presence of the Big Yam in my life and his insatiable demands and boundless energy. You kind of have to be an organizational wunderkind when you have a kid if you prize any semblance of order or predictability (and I do, Lord knows I do).

I feel like I'm trying to hold it down so that the Dotytron isn't destabilized too much and by extension so that we can both support Momma D and Ehmdo. I'm feeling numbed by the demands of being normal - with school, the Big Yam, going back to work, keeping a household running.

As Dr. Rei reminded me though - there's multiple ways of grieving and there's no right way. I'm definitely finding it comforting leaning on friends and family. I'm hoping that the Dotytron will be able to take Friday to be quiet and alone and reflective - I'm taking the Big Yam out shopping with Momma D and the Dotytron is taking the day off of work. It will be a good chance for him to be alone - he's rarely alone, with me and Master T and being surrounded by kids all day at work and all. He can think about what he wants to say at the service and just be meditative and live in the moment in his emotions. I'm hoping that I will get the opportunity at a later date to do the same, although I do get to steal an hour here or there - writing this miserable blog is really when I get to do that and I'm grateful to have this as an outlet and grateful that all my readers (yes, all 2 of you) indulge me.

Fin.