I hate this week. I mean really hate it, wish I could curl up in bed and sleep it away.
I hate changing clocks. I hate Nov 6th. I hate the first Sunday in November. In some odd twist of fate the horrible time has conspired to spread beyond the bounds of 24 hours.
I think about the time immediately after. How in shock I was. On one level I understood what it all meant and on another I couldn't really comprehend. Right now I don't even really remember much of the funeral, although the wake I often remember too clearly. I remember speaking a little and Emily breaking down, sliding to the carpeted floor, but that's pretty much it. I couldn't comprehend this heavy weight that had settled across my back, or really hear the words. It is like a Charlie Brown scene from school- Brother Paul is speaking and noise is coming out, but the vowels and consonants do not form words.
At times I sit there on the wooden bench with the fog enveloping me, but not really feeling like it is actually me or that it is real. The box in front isn't what it is, and Perry is in the nursery waiting for me to come get him after it is over. So I can get in the Explorer and take everyone home, kick off my shoes, and watch Emily rolling on the ground with her brother.
They gave me a DVD of the service. Chris said that he watched it and seemed comforted. I wonder if this is something I should do or avoid. Will I feel better after actually hearing the words or curl up in a ball screaming/crying? Do I want to do this? If so by myself or with someone else? I know where it is- in a little gold box from the funeral home along with the sympathy cards, next to Perry's little bank and his blue fuzzy puppy dog.
Part of me does, another part fears that little white box that I will see sitting in front. Some days, you see, I am still in denial. Like if I really let all of my brain process it I will sink down into the blackness, so I shove it down and distract.
But as I contemplate whether Paiden will share the same bank, or if I should let him play with the stuffed animal, the box sits there larger than the actual space it occupies.