Not A Good Day

When I got back to Georgia after watching my Dad die (Not fun, but I'm glad that I was there), I had a number of things to deal with besides my own personal grief.

Just getting me out to Washington (State, NOT D.C., thank goodness!) was Very Expensive. Not to mention the costs of just being there, what with hotel and food, etc.

Then there was the simple stress.

Simple?

Riiight.

And when I got back, well, I guess that grief doesn't show much on me.

I've been getting some... odd, shall we say, looks and comments.

Listen up, people. Death and stress and grief and sadness manifest themselves in many different ways with different people.

I miss my Dad. I love him, and miss him. And my Mom. And my grandparents.

The me you see every day is not the me that's inside.

I don't beat my breast, and weep and wail.

I just do what Mom and Dad would expect of me.

I get on with it. I hug my girls. I hug my wife. I treasure each day, from beginning to end. I do my best. As Mom and Dad would expect me to do.

So, what don't you see?

You don't see the hole in my heart. You don't see my tears, when I'm alone. You don't see the aching endless void that is the place that my Mom and Dad hold. The ones who always could be counted on for a wise word or three when I needed advice, or when I neede a little propping up when I was unsure of myself. Or a swift kick in the ass when that is needed.

What you do see is OWW getting himself together to meet the day. To cope. To do the best I can.

Because that's what's expected.