I guess tonight is the night I tie myself down for a little while and see what I can do with this keyboard. Its 6:39 and I’ve just completed my most serious crying fit of the day. Rhonda took the girls to eat Thai food. I was indecisive, knowing inside that all I wanted to do was sit in a corner, pull my knees to my chest and rock. I’ve been given a lot of space to heal. It could be too much. I’m deconstructing in this house, melting into a directionless pool. I have to write…I have to write…
But nothing comes out. I push away from my desk – thoughts careen through my head at warp speed. My fingertips touch the keyboard – nothing. I lean back and am again swarmed by a million words and pictures. But they’re unassembled and hurling by, too quickly to catch. I can’t make sense out of anything and I think it’s the helplessness that feels the most appealing today. I want to sit and stare. I want to be numb.
There have been several times that I’ve been certain that he’s around me, over me, watching me. Not when I’m strong, when I’m weak. When I’m strong he sits back, comfortable. When I’m weak he leans in. He hovers. He takes on that feeling of helplessness. Because crying helps something, I think. Crying helps exhaust me. I don’t want him to take that from me. Conversely, it’s me who is supposed to exorcise his legacy, supposed to wade through the wreckage of death, past the charred walls of a life that finally combusted to where I can begin to reassemble the parts that will eventually build a legacy. And will eventually shatter apart again, next time for my daughters to rebuild.
My father wants me to be strong and I can only do that for so many hours in the day. Today I am completely overwhelmed. I need to get a venue secured for his memorial and no one is calling me back. I need to talk to his wife and I don’t have anything to say. I need to select which software I’m going to use for his slide show and I just seize up. I need to write his eulogy…but I’m too terrified to even start.
I should be more engaged in work. I just can’t do it. I just can’t care enough about work today. It seems, expectedly, that the things I can mechanize come more easily today. Just don’t ask me to think. Don’t ask me to make decisions. I need to be of service, but today I can’t take anything that isn’t simply automated. I’m crying now, gasping as I type. It’s as if these few petty key strokes are peeling away a temporary bandage I’ve applied between me and myself.
Talked to Kathy tonight. I feel better now. In planning my dad’s memorial, I am moving at a decent pace, perhaps faster than others and I know that what I am doing is valuable to the overall mission. I must remind myself that I’ve accomplished a lot today.