The week my grandmother died:
I didn't cry as much as I should have
I wasn't sure why I was sad
I kept busy to keep from thinking, like she would have done I assume
I learnt the value of friendship in terms of time and energy expended
I learnt my mode of grieving - private and intermittent
I didn't see much of my kids and I didn't check much homework
I felt so alone
I felt lost
I realised that I didn't know how to use my voice
I worried about my dad but knew he was handling it his way, not burying it
I discovered how close my dad and I are, despite the seeming drifting apart over the years
I knew God's provision.
The day they buried my grandmother:
I'd cut myself the night before and wondered if it was some sort of blood covenant
I felt like I missed the funeral but also that I wouldn't have managed to attend it
Family drama annoyed and disappointed me. I cut some people out of my heart
I didn't say goodbye to my grandfather when I left
I wondered how Khulu really felt and wondered if it mattered.
The day after they buried my grandmother:
I wondered if her life was worth the three that came into the world around the time of her death. I realised that God had known 9 months before that He was going to take her and I felt slightly betrayed
I wondered if I would ever recover from her death though I knew I didn't want to
I discovered that none of the words of sympathy I received actually comforted me, but seeing people around did as it reminded me that so many people loved her too
23rd March 2014