I can't even begin to properly hug everyone who needs one. I can't even figure out how I should be there for my mom, since it's her dad who died after all, but she's not strongly tied to emotions and IDK, in the past she hasn't wanted the comfort I'd offer a different personality and I've known it and I know that hasn't changed now, but...something. I just want you all to know my heart goes out to you and I wish I could make it all hurt less.
(((((((big group hug with giant noodle arms)))))))
I was sobbing reading those pages of the thread, but it was good that I did. It was a release. That business of being "all cried out" is a damn dirty lie, though. I want to cry again right now. RCW, what you said about relationships being judged by all the good over all the years was so beautiful. Aaaand now I am crying again. I'm gonna need to replace this box of tissues.
Oh god, all the talk about how I'm so much like him, that I'm almost like a clone and my mind is so like his (with "too much" flying around in it - poppycock, but meant well). It's wonderful and it's painful. When we were clearing plates from the table awhile back and I casually took back the glass my grandma picked up (no snatching or anything rude) because I was still using it, she declared, "He's not dead, he's here!" He didn't go snatching at things either, but he ate very slowly and very little toward the end, so I guess there was a bit of grey area with plates. On the one hand, I love hearing these kinds of things because I love being reminded of our connection but on the other, it hurts so much that he's not here so we can hang out and talk and relate and prove it. We talked so little and that wasn't wrong, it's not like he was known for his chattiness, but there's so much I would never have thought to ask about that we could have shared and everything just feels like it was so empty and pointless and I should have done everything differently.
I have that little urn with some of his ashes in it now. I wonder how he felt about porcelain dolls. When I received each of the three I own, I was so amazed and I felt that they were so precious, they had to be someplace super safe, even hidden, and that's why I put them in the cabinet. Now this little urn is the most precious thing I own and it's in the cabinet with them. This bit of him in its urn inside its velvet bag is by the little lamb doll one of them is holding because he loved animals. Like me. My mom used to have to send me into petting zoos with someone else so she could have her private grossed-out moment while I hugged a goat. When I'm finally gone from this place, I'll make him his own spot there and he won't have to share space with any dolls if he wants to come chill with this portion of his body, but I think for now, this is good. I also think the urn will be good to talk to - gives me a focal point.
I need to call that grief counselor. I also need to call my insurance to lobby for the right to go back to therapy. These are such useful things to think at 4:22 am.
...It's a siggie