Sometimes the grief is overwhelming
...and sometimes manageable.

Sometimes I want to scream in the cornfield behind my house
...and other times that seems so futile and insignificant.

Sometimes I want the pain to go away
...and most of the time I'm grief-stricken.

Many times tears sting my eyes fighting for a chance to release
...all the time I want him back.

I find this more and more surreal as time passes. I forget - is that possible - that he's not here. I find myself picking up the phone to CALL him. We're buying his truck for Chad. I see it in my driveway and rejoice at being able to see him...and then I'm snapped back to reality. Instantly.

I find myself not remembering what he looked like. How can that be? All I see are the images of the last 10 days. They are forever burned in my mind.

I call his house when I know Jenny's not there to listen to the answering machine. Then, feeling stupid, I hang up before leaving a message.

I'm tired of calming my children at night amidst their cries for Pappaw. I find myself angry at them for crying (but I try not to let them realize it). What kind of a mother does that make me? Pretty awful, if you ask me.

I hate when the world asks me if I'm okay, and I hate when they don't.

I despise little elementary "Daddy's angel" and "Daddy's little girl" shirts.

My head says it's normal to be sad, angry, depressed, lost - that I should not take out frustration on other people. But my heart doesn't get the memo.

I think I can't think about it. But if I don't think about it constantly I feel guilty. I make no sense.

Tomorrow is the four week mark....no it's too late for that. TODAY is the four week mark. Don't tell me that I'm four weeks closer to seeing him. I'm four weeks FARTHER from him.

I think about who was in that room. I see myself out of my body reacting to his breathing...crying out to him...clutching to him as he took his last breath - feeling so helpless and alone and scared and panicked...it's unbearable.

When I do have memories of him that aren't of the sickness, it always reverts back. I think about painting this house...oh yeah, he had cancer then amd we didn't know. I think about Christmas...oh yeah, he was GETTING cancer then. I think about him holding Gabriel on his lap...I don't know the last time he saw Gabriel or Drew or Evan, for that matter. I think it was July 1. He wasn't feeling good that day. He was in a lot of pain. I slept through most of that day. The last time I would not know he was sick - and I wasted it sleeping!

He was such a better person than I am.

I know it does no good, but I ask Why? all the time.

No answers come.