It's been four days

It's been four days since she died. It might as well have been a life time ago. But it has only been four days. The last time she had really "lived" had been a month before that. The last time she was able to move about on her own, feed herself, talk and laugh without difficulty was a month. They say the last thing to go is the hearing. I believe it. Because even as she was laying there, not moving, not talking, not smiling, she knew we were talking about her. My Aunt Di was telling a little story and my Grandma Kelly's eye brows would jut up at certain spots. Almost as in response. She knew we were talking about her. That's how I knew she heard me say good-bye the last time. She didn't have to say anything or hug me back or laugh or smile, I knew from her eye brow that she was saying good bye.

It has been four days since she died. The earth has not stopped spinning. The air is still cold and there is still snow on the ground. It is warm in my house and there is no lack of oxygen to breath, but I can't get warm, I am always cold inside and it feels like sandbags of sorrow are preventing me from catching my breath.The weight of sadness far surpasses my own weight and it has engulfed me and hangs from me. It's a second skin.

It's been four days since she died. Only four. I know I must give myself time to grieve. My heart is broken and I must allow myself time to heal. But it feels like a lifetime ago. Wednesday night feels like it was a million nights ago. I feel like screaming why does it still hurt so damn much? Why do I feel like I shouldn't be allowed to grieve? Maybe because I have been grieving her for so long. Maybe because I think I knew it was coming, I should have been more prepared. I should have known. I should have had my grieving done and I should be celebrating her life, I should be living, I should be ok. But I'm not. I'm grieving. I'm broken.

It has been four days since she died. Every night my son comes to me and he is crying or hurting, tonight he is sick. Grief manifests itself in many ways. My daughter wants to be left alone. She will come to me for a moment or two, but she wants to be left alone in her pain. I don't know what I want to do. I want to clean the house because Grandmas house was always clean. But when I get up to clean I feel like a zombie. I move slowly through the house accomplishing something but nothing all at once. Some moments I want to have people around, I don't want to be alone, I need human interaction. I need to feel something. But as I am in those moments I realize I don't think I feel anything at all. Then I realize what I am doing and what is happening and I cry, like I am now. I want a hot bath, in a tub I can fit in (I'm fat, grief doesn't change that). I want a book and tea and silence.

It has been four days since she died. In four days  I have put on 2 pounds. I don't even realize I am eating half the time. I find out when I am covered in crumbs or my hands in the box or I don't care to stop.

My grandma would not like this behavior. She under stood grief. She understood pain, but she didn't let it get the best of her. She would let me grieve but remind me that I am living and that I have to continue doing that.