big gone heart

My stepdad

My stepdad John B died this past Tuesday at dawn, February 4. Sudden but not unexpected. I got to spend time with him, After the Fact. I was overwhelmed by gratitude, mostly. I’m go grateful he was so goodhearted, that he adored and took care of my mother, that he was in my life and I in his.

And now the familiar drumbeat of grief begins. I am angry, sad, volatile, indifferent, thin-skinned. I sail through some potential grief landmines (dealing with the idiots from the society who picked him up; picking out an urn) and get destroyed by others (fitting his entire existence into three file boxes; that picture, above).

I feel the relentlessness of time passing. The grief triggers the other, older griefs in a tragic chain reaction. Boom boom boom. Gone gone gone.

I punish others because I’m feeling the way I feel. I feel put upon, but at the same time am grateful for all the stuff that needs to be done. Getting wiser-older and more angry-toddler simultaneously.

At least I know by now that grief is this … thing. A lumpy unpredictable thing that comes and goes on its own selfish agenda. I know it’s not depression or anger, it’s just grief. Thank goodness others know this too, so when I grind to a stop, or when tears spring unbidden, or I get really mad at something really unimportant — they know. They may or may not empathize, but they know. And they deal the best they can.

John asked that his “dear adopted family” and friends have a party, on him, in his memory. Now that I can do. I have my many doubts, but the idea that perhaps there’s a party going on in his realm is a very nice thought. And happy reunions. And joy. And peace, finally.

A peach of a man

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