The First Night (For Kim)

There are lots of firsts in life....first time you ride a bike, first time you drive a car, first time you fall in love, first time you get your heart broken.  They are all memorable, but by far one of my most memorable firsts was the first night after my dad died.  A friend lost her mom yesterday and it hit me hard.  Stupid cancer.  I couldn't even send her a message about it yesterday because I couldn't compose myself.  And this morning I decided a text or FB post or message wasn't enough.  Neither is this blog but I feel compelled to write for her

Last night was her first night without her mom.  I thought of her all night.  I remember that first night, afraid to fall asleep because that would somehow make it more real.  As if I stayed awake, it would somehow make it impossible to begin the second day without my dad.    That first night I laid in bed all night and clutched a framed picture.  Somewhere in the wee hours, I dozed off.  When I woke, I was angry at myself for falling asleep, allowing the second day of my life without my dad to begin.  I thought of her doing this, or her version of this, with her newborn and 2 other small children, already in survival mode and sleep deprived and now wading through the fresh sorrow. 

The first days are a blur....so much activity yet everything seems to still.  You're frozen in emotion, yet the world is whizzing by.  Somehow you keep your shit together and keep yourself from crumbling to a pile on the floor (you will do that later in a bar, after a few drinks and your friends will carry you home).  During all the services and ceremonies and visitors and whatnot, you're a stone - playing hostess with the mostess.  You even console others that are overcome with grief in your presence.  Seeing you makes them so sad for your loss, they can't help themselves.  They will say things like "she's in a better place", "at least she's not suffering anymore", "you'll see her again some day", "now you have a guardian angel"....all of it will secretly piss you off.  They say these things because they don't know what else to say.  Allow them this.  They need it.  But you can talk with your sister about it, because she feels the same way.  Your dad too.  Y'all will shake your fist at God, at the universe, at the asshole known as cancer.  I recommend throwing cheap plates against the side of your house.  It is incredibly therapeutic. 

Kim - all I will say is I'm so damn sorry.  Because all that other shit about a better place and guardian angels and no more suffering doesn't help you right now.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so fucking sorry you have to walk this walk.