It has been three days since my dad died. Three days. In those three days, I have cleaned out his closet, scrubbed his bathroom from top to bottom, redecorated his bedroom and his living room. I do not feel any better.
I have never been a sit on my rear kind of person. I get that from my parents. Relaxing to the average person is normal. Relaxing to my parents always meant building something, throwing a party for three hundred people or moving someone in need into their home. Idle hands were not allowed in the Casas household.
I really want to just curl up into the fetal position in the corner of my closet and cry until I can’t cry anymore but who has time for that. So instead, today I will be cleaning the garage, brushing down the horses and maybe I will put a new roof on the house. It’s what my dad would be doing if his dad had just died.
My friends and family have been amazing. People are bringing food, calling, and writing. The words written and spoken to me have been deeply touching bringing me to tears each and every time. I have been saving every card, letter and email knowing that later on down the road, they will bring me great happiness when I re-read how loved I am. Right now, I just cry.
I hate crying. I especially hate crying in front of people. I have seen myself cry before. No, I did not stand in front of the mirror and practice but I have caught glimpses of myself as I wept. It was not a pretty sight. I guess crying wouldn’t be so bad if I could do it and look like one of the actresses you see on TV or in the movies. They still look great. I, however, look worse than I normally do. My face contorts, the small amount of make-up I usually wear magically multiples into massive rivers of black running down my face and snot drips from my facial orifices. Seriously, not a good look even for an Okie.
The other thing that is starting to really annoy me is my loss of control. The truth is, I never really have control over my life, but I have learned to pretend I do. These last three days have brought reality crashing down on me like Dorothy’s house on the Wicked Witch of the East. I can be going along just fine, cleaning and cooking and talking to Bob or one of our flying monkeys and wham! Out of nowhere, I am bawling my head off, face contorted, black river running, snot dripping bawling. The more I try to stop, the worse it gets.
This orphan thing is not working for me.