Monday, February 25, 2013

C'Mon Stink


Hey Kel,

 Have you been wondering where I’ve been? I went to Texas for a few days. I needed to get away from work and family and friends. I needed to get away from you. But you followed me. Driving south through Oklahoma, I thought I had outrun you. There was no crying, no remembering and no stomachache. Then I crossed the border into Texas and it all came slamming back as if I had just driven straight into a brick wall. What was I thinking running to Texas to get away from you? How could I forget all those trips south to meet you in Houston? The days, weeks, months spent with you at MDAnderson? Why wasn’t I thinking before I left? I could have prepared myself, right?

Anyway, I met Lori there. We spent the weekend visiting her family, crying, praying, cussing and drinking. Oh yeah, it was real spiritual. No, it really was. It was just what I needed. Being with someone else whose own grief seemed to match mine was terrifying and yet it somehow helped me. Isn’t that strange?

The first night there, I dreamt about you. It was late and Lori and I had had a few too many drinks, cried late into the night and fell into the sleep of the dead. Literally. I thought I was walking through a zoo looking for something and suddenly there you were. You had that same hideous hospital gown on and you were barefoot. Your hair was long and blonde like when we were kids and you were smiling. Not just a smile. You were grinning from ear to ear, almost laughing when you saw me. You put your arms out and I ran to you. I held you so tight I was afraid I might hurt you but you just kept giggling. I wasn’t laughing though. I was crying. My heart was breaking into a million pieces and I could feel each jagged little piece falling around my feet. All of a sudden you pointed and told me to look across the walkway. When I turned, I saw the tiniest baby skunks. I ran over to get one because you and I always said we wanted a baby skunk. When I turned back to ask you to help me catch one, you were gone and I immediately woke up. You’re still gone.

 Lori gave me a wonderful book to read. It’s called Tear Soup. It brought me to tears, had me smiling here and there and gave me hope that I am not going insane. One thing it said was that people can really only handle about one month of another person’s grief. You have been dead twenty days. That means I have ten days left before people get sick of me and my dead sister.

 Sucks to be them.

                                     I miss you,

                                             Me
 
PS......This stinks to high heaven. Is that what you were trying to tell me?
 

 

 

6 comments:

Amy Hansen said...

Other people can shove it....that is all. Love you. P.S. - you know I'm totally in on this baby skunk thing, right?

Brian Miller said...

we all have different grief journeys...dont know that you can limit it to a month or whatever...hang tight...

um baby skunk...hmmm....

Delirious said...

I do think that those who have passed hover close to us in the first weeks after their death. I think we pick up on that and it makes us dream about them. It doesn't say that in the Bible, but I believe it. :)

Hope said...

I love that book.
I have come and read here many times and every thing I think of to say sounds trite to my ears so I end up deleting it.
I am sorry that your sister died.

Teresa - in the Middle Side of Life said...

Other people can shove it. I understand. When my sister died, I thought I'd never get over it. I did - in the sense that I didn't cry all the time, but have never gotten over the wanting to call her feeling. She's been gone almost 12 years. Now, my mother has left me, too (5 months ago) and the grief is still there. My doctor said I should be feeling more normal at about six months. Maybe... some days... others - definitely not.

Like Brian said, don't try to limit how long "you" should grieve or how long is appropriate for you. Maybe you just change the way you go about it, but I don't think people ever truly stop grieving for someone. The good memories just begin to outweigh the sadness and slowly the grief seems to take a smaller piece of your life.

Well... for whatever that was worth - I hope for happier days in your very near future.

(I still need your address.)

Glen said...

What you need to do is.... whatever the hell you need to do.

It's a personal thing and everyone is different, just do whatever it takes for as long as you need and stuff em