Sunday, February 27, 2011

This is the part where I pretend

To be okay.  To care. 

I have to. 

I am not sure whether it is better that I am forced to get back to routines and obligations and planned events so quickly because of the kids.  Or whether it would be better if I really had time to grieve.

Like, actual real time to mourn the loss of my father.

Without the constant distractions, without always being needed by someone, without already having things I need to do.

I don't know which would be better.

If I didn't have the kids, I could cry when I needed to.  I wouldn't feel like I have to hide my tears.

I could curl up in a ball for days or weeks if that is what it took, but I can't.  They have school and scouts and church and sports.  Their activities are my obligations.

The obligations that I don't care very much about at all right now.

Like today.

I have to get ready for a banquet for Cub Scouts.  The lovely downside of uninvolved parents generally is that those who are willing get stuck with most of the work, and we have.  Last year, Tom had to coordinate it without me.  I wasn't here.

Last year, I was sitting in a hospital ICU room the day of the Blue and Gold, a thousand miles away.  Wondering if my father, hooked up to a ventilator, would pull through. 

This year, he is gone.

For some reason, Cub Scouts tends to interfere with my sorrow a little more than any other activity the kids are involved with.  The day Dad was diagnosed with stage 4, terminal cancer, I had to gather myself.  I had to be composed.  I had to smile and be friendly.  I had to go to a Pack meeting and talk to a room full of people about selling popcorn.

As if I cared then.

I didn't.  And I don't now.

This is the part where I pretend.

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