Off the Beaten Track

We've been back almost a month now and while on the surface everything looks normal and like we are moving ahead. I feel like I'm swirling around most days. My schedule helps and I'm getting things done, but I feel disconnected or removed. It's worst at night. I am back to not sleeping. I spend many hours on the couch staring at the TV or ignoring it in a quest for rest.

I have a friend I recently got back in touch with who also, even more recently, lost her partner of 7 years to a brain aneurysm. She started a blog and her pain seems like the only thing that makes sense to me some days. Basically no one here knew my Dad and so life has not changed for them with his death. It's almost like the whole block of time doesn't exist here. I've been feeling right along that my 7 months home were out of regular time. Being back here at my own house has only reinforced that feeling.

Sometimes my son is the only thing that seems real in my daily life. And I feel liek a waver between holding on to him and being exhausted by him. He's only 3 and isn't responsible for me. But, bless him, he gives shape to my days.

I'm just so tired, I can't rest and nothing in my head will settle. It is a dust storm in there, a tornado. And I don't expect to land in Oz.

Pushing Through

It's been almost two weeks since we lost Dad and I don't know that it has really hit me yet. The first week was absolutely consumed with preparations and ceremonies. Days spent in a funeral home for viewing are some of the longest you'll ever live. I haven't done it in almost 20 years. In the exact same place, as a matter of fact.

I cannot begin to explain what the fire department did for us. They stood honor guard, every minute of every viewing. The did a farewell ceremony the second evening. They did a final farewell the morning of the funeral and lined the halls in honor as we each left for the church. That almost did me in. Like every Junior fireman touching my Dad as they walked past his casket. The entire department stood honor guard at the church. Every fire truck was in his procession. He rode in the floodlight he restored. They had flags over all of the major intersections. We drove past the fire house and they had his turnout gear out front. Which broke my heart. They set up the whole luncheon for us at the fire house. Between viewing times, people came to our house and did food and drinks and tables for us. I can't tell you what they all mean to me. I know I need to write them a thank you but I can't even get started. I haven't started on any of my thank yous yet. I feel like it is going to be such a private thing, I don't knwo where I can do it. But I have to. To thank my friend who was with me every step of the way. To thank the friend who drove 8 straight hours to be with me without thinking twice. To thank the friend who sent his parents in his stead. To thank all of the people who supported me and helped me. It's just exhausting to think of starting. A little like when I was trying to pack to come home in March.

My son doesn't understand what has happened. He keeps asking about his Papa. Are we going to see him? Why can't we go to Heaven? Can he talk to him? Why? It breaks my heart over nad over. But part of me wants him to keep on asking so I know he remembers him. Not that he doesn't make me laugh too. He's learning the Mickey Mouse song. He had Mom and I peeing in our pants singing all together. He hits the high points.

Mom is trying to set the land speed record on writing her thank you notes. She writes until she's dizzy. She's written about 400. Seriously.

It's comforting to know we aren't the only ones who love him.

Now I'm trying to establish a routine again. Down time is my enemy at the moment. Last weekend dragged on forever. Like I said, I'm still waiting for it to really hit me. I'm running as fast as I can.