Grief sucks.
Sometimes it just hits you in the gut like a concrete punch. And it leaves you breathless.
I am feeling breathless.
8 years ago today, as Facebook so faithfully & poignantly reminds me, we took my Mom to her favorite buffet out “in the boondocks.” (We probably drove that far just so she could get gas for 3 cents cheaper a gallon. Oh Mom …)
She had just been diagnosed with her third round of cancer. And decided decisively she wouldn’t fight it.
2 days later we held her dying hand as it paled against the sterile hospital sheet.
At the end of July, we had to put our feisty & funny furry girl down. I can’t even write about that yet.
Not even 7 days later does Facebook remind me that 5 years before we had to put our Spooner down.
It’s too much isn’t it. In a decade, we have lost both of my parents & all of our pets. 5 deaths.
What in the actual f***!?
I vacillate between 2 extremes: 1, throwing myself a pity party & 2, hosting a bash celebrating the mercy that I haven’t become a bitter bitch.
At least on most days.
Today I’m a bit more pity party. Today the punch is real. Today the breath catches.
lifeinthedport 