Today all I can do is write

I don’t know why I’m writing right now, except that writing has always been the only way I can sort things out in my head. And, I feel like I should be doing something.  But, I already went for a five mile run, spent two hours at the gym, finished reading the book I was in the middle of, cleaned my room, did the laundry, took the dogs for a walk, unloaded the dishwasher and now I’m out of ideas to distract myself.

I guess I have to admit I’m not the best at handling certain situations.

I mean I get it, okay? We all die. But what–I am just never going to see her again? Never talk to her again? What—so, that’s just it?

I actually do not comprehend that. And, I’m not okay with it either.

Thankfully, there is Heaven and I can take some comfort in our souls reuniting. But that mild comfort isn’t doing much for the sharp chest pain.

I’ve read tons of descriptions of a “broken heart,” usually in the context of tumultuous romantic relationships. And, yes I’ve felt my heart somewhat break at times. Except all those seem funny now, so mundane compared to this.

Because now—this–it’s just sitting there, like it crawled into my heart and found a nice little place to camp out. And it decides when it wants to flare up or fester or spread to my knees or my breath or get stuck in my throat. And it just thinks it can just run shit: like sending messages to my brain or deciding my emotions.

Mostly it reminds me of the facts, but then it also adds a nice little irrationality for a not so perfect combination.

And the facts are these: she’s dead.

But, we all die. (And shouldn’t that comfort me?)

But, she lived a good long life filled with love. (And shouldn’t that comfort me?)

And, she will finally be reunited with the love of her life. (And shouldn’t that comfort me?)

And, she’s no longer in pain.

Those things do comfort me. To some extent.

But then there’s this selfish side that says, “Hey! Wait, no. I didn’t get enough time.” It says, “I wanted more.”

I know that makes me selfish and greedy.

And in my large family, I know they are all in so much more pain. Pain I can’t comprehend. They lost their mom. So where do I get off being this upset? What right do I have?

I guess I was just immature and never really imagined life without her. And she only got to see 22 years.

And, I promise Nana, I promise, one day I’ll accomplish something. I’m sorry I haven’t yet so you could watch. I’m sorry.  And, I’m sorry I haven’t found my husband or gotten married or had kids for you to meet.

I try to tell myself she’ll watch us all from Heaven, maybe even with a little T.V. screen.

I pray to God the T.V. can show her how much I love her, how proud I am to have her fiery Irish wit, and how honored I feel to have been apart of her life.

I really hope so.