I’ve actually been home almost a week. I can’t begin to tell you how good it is to be home. We arrived at midnight. It was dark, humid and the air was full of sound. I loved it! Frogs, cicadas, crickets, you name it — they all just washed over us. It was a perfect homecoming.
I love my son. I love my grandchildren.
I would not trade one minute I spent with them over the last three months. Even the difficult minutes. And there were many of them, for both them and for me. (I’ll go back to them if I’m needed, but I’m in no hurry.) Life is damn hard when a loved one dies. When two die within 12 days of each other, it’s almost unbearable in many ways. Just putting one foot in front of the other while dealing with the day to day challenges of life is unbelievably hard.
Dealing with Teresa’s loss while taking care of my grandchildren
was just too difficult. I have not grieved properly for her. I don’t know if I ever will be able to. I have this defence mechanism of locking my grief (fear, rage, whatever it is at the time) into a little room inside me. I have yet to figure out where the room is — in my brain or my heart — I don’t know. Once something is locked in, I don’t really know how to take it out again to work on it. Let’s just say, I’ll need many, many hours of therapy to take care of it, more than likely. Until then, I’m home and I am happy to be here.