I'm probably going to mess up this story, but you'll get the idea. It's how I thought of the idea for the title of this blog.
I had lunch with Ellen about a month or so back. She's one of the most lovely, kind, compassionate women I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. When dad died, I felt a strong need to tell her. Since I met her back in March she's been so incredibly supportive of me and thought I could lean on her for a bit of strength and wisdom. Anyhow, we met for lunch a while back and she told me this story of how there was a lady she worked with, or knew, or learned from ... I can't remember the details exactly. This lady would always check-in with families on the 52nd day after the death of a loved one. In her experience this was a terrible time for most families. While they seemed convinced in the first 51 days of their abilities to move on and "understand" it all, by the 52nd day things would change for them. They would hit a new level of anger, sadness, frustration.
I'm on day 63 ... my dad died 63 days ago. Suddenly. A heart attack. For the most part I remain in a state of numbness. I don't feel much of anything. On occassion, I come out of that state and I feel the pain all over again. It's like it's the first day ... the first moment I heard my mother tell me she had some bad news. "Dad died this morning." I still feel pretty lost. I work hard at my job, which is a great distraction. But there's days I wonder when it's all going to come crumbling down around me. When is the reality of this tragedy really going to hit me? Because most of the time it still doesn't feel quite real.
So where do I go from here? I'm hoping to find some comfort in this blog. I hear it can be quite cathartic.
