Hey. I try to be chatty and casual in these here blog posts, but I’m just not feeling it lately. I am so sad about my father-in-law passing away. I can’t think about anything else. Even the Drop Kick Murpheys didn’t help. I am also doing something different for me – I am not telling people how I feel. In person, I mean. I am telling you… I guess that has always been my MO – I write about my feelings. Sometimes I talk about them, but that’s usually when I am having good feelings, not sad ones. So maybe it’s not different.
This death is hitting me hard. It’s reminding me of the first death that was significant to me, as I recall: Grandma on my Dad’s side. Maybe it’s reminding me of that because we had gone up North for a wedding; Grandma lived with us, so she was going to stay in the hospital for the weekend. She insisted that she would be fine, and that we should go and enjoy ourselves.
We stayed at my Aunt Carol’s house, no doubt we had dinner with Kenny, who I wrote about a blog or two ago. We were sleeping downstairs in the bedroom behind the woodfire furnace when the phone rang. Uncle Bud came down to tell my dad that it was for him – this was at 3:30 in the morning. My mom must have made a remark that we know what phone calls in the middle of the night mean. I didn’t really know, but I found out soon enough that they usually meant someone had died.
Grandma had a heart attack in the hospital. I think I went into shock, or maybe I didn’t really understand what it meant, but I remember Dad kneeling at the side of the bed and telling me that she died. Then I think I remember him looking up at me and saying, “aren’t you going to cry?”
I felt bad. I didn’t know why I wasn’t crying already, and I probably did start crying then. I really don’t remember. What I do remember is that I kept a photo of her and made myself cry while looking at it. I did this well through high school. I don’t know why I felt so guilty – like I had done her wrong somehow by not crying instantly.
Jay and I were up North visiting my parents when we got the call from Linda that Jim wasn’t doing very well and was in the ICU. We came home, and it seemed like he was maybe doing better. We had averted the curse of leaving town when a loved one isn’t in top health. But it didn’t last. Three weeks, can it possibly have only been three weeks? Three weeks later, it’s over. A delightful person is gone from this world, lost to us.
Maybe I’m grasping at insignificant similarities in a hope to make this meaningful or symbolic somehow. I don’t think it’s going to work, though. Even if it did, I don’t know if it would really help with this big gaping hole in my life. Guess that’s going to take time. Time and thinking. And talking. Guess I’ll go do some talking right now and let the healing process begin.