I wanted to say thank you to all the people who have taken care of me these past weeks. Thank you to the people who reached out by text or IM or calls. Thank you to the people who took me to dinner or cooked for me or just plain got me out of the house. Thank you to the people who have given me space. Thank you to my housemates who have stepped up. Thank you to the people who didn't coddle me and told me some hard truths.
Grief is an individual thing that each person processes and copes with on their own. My grief is different than my sister's and it’s different than my brother's and it’s different than Jim’s fiancé and it’s different than everyone else’s. We all miss my brother and we all are reeling in our own ways.
People ask me if I’m ok and I reply as truthfully as I can. No, I’m not. I’m not fucking ok and I won’t be for a long time and I won't ever be the same. Despite that, I have to live and I have to take care of things. As I’ve said to someone recently, I’m trying to pick myself up and face the world again, feeling a little bit less completely shattered and taking deeper breaths. I still find myself almost physically knocked over at least once a day and the urge to weep is always right behind my eyes. Pulling the curtains and hiding in the dark with a bottle of vodka is a powerful desire but it’s not what my brother would have approved of. Being around people may be what I need so I’ll venture out this weekend to a few events but with an escape plan in case things get overwhelming.
Again, thanks everyone. If you see me, I may be a bit weirder than normal but know that I'm happy to see you.