Dealing with Death--I have no choice.

I have never felt so confused on how to feel in my entire life. As the days go on, I find that my feelings are changing rapidly about what's happened.

By what's happened I mean Mum dying.

And--side note--I really need to stop avoiding actually saying those words.

Anytime I talk about it, I find that I'll say "since it happened", or "since she...ya know...."....like I'm avoiding the topic. Like somehow that's going to make it better or easier to handle.

Well, it's not.

And it's not like me to dance around a topic. It's almost like I don't want to believe that it's true. In fact that's exactly it--I don't want to believe that it's true. It's too uncomfortable.

If I could think of words that describe how I feel about death, mum dying, and everything that comes along with it, they would be this:

Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.

Those are my "death words."

I hate every little thing that comes along with death. It's a humongous experience that you're put through, and there's no hand out to fix all the damage that comes along with it. There are SO MANY EMOTIONS. I can't keep up with them all.

Honestly, I feel like every morning instead of drinking the coffee I'm used to, I'm drinking a venti depresso instead. I feel so upset about this.

Yesterday I went through all of Mum's clothes. It was a big task, because that woman had so much clothes it was ridiculous. I went through them all and sorted them into piles; goodwill, consignment, and trash. It was so strange seeing how many of her outfits that I had memories of. There was one that she wore to my son's first birthday. One that she wore to my husband and I's wedding. One's that I remember her greeting us at the door wearing when we went over for summer bar-b-ques.

I'll say it again---it's so surreal that she's gone.

Even going into their house-Mum and Dad's house--again, (which, by the way is weird to talk about too, because I don't know if I should call it "Mum and Dad's house" or "Roy's House" anymore. Just another awkward moment when you just don't know), was so very weird.

Whenever we would go to their house before we'd first get greeted by their two annoying-as-hell little puppies (one of which passed away right before Mum did), then we'd get shuffled inside and encouraged to sit and get comfortable, asked if we wanted anything to eat or drink, and then with this family you could count on the conversation to wander in any direction.

Now the house is quiet. Too quiet. Only one puppy. And there I was cleaning out the closet and sorting through Mum's clothes. Waiting for the Pastor to meet us there so we could talk about Mum's funeral.

 Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.

There are those death words again.

I did NOT want to talk about Mum's funeral. I didn't want to plan it. I didn't want to organize it. I didn't want to help because I didn't want it to happen.

But I helped. And as it turns out, I'm actually going to be singing "The Lords Prayer" at the end of the service. I'm looking forward to doing that part, because in the past it has brought me a lot of comfort in other times of loss, and hopefully it will do the same now.

So.

I'm exhausted guys. I feel sad, angry, depressed, stressed, overwhelmed, tired, and a whole bunch of other feelings I don't think I can put my finger on. And I know it's a process. I know we all go through different steps of grieving and there's no particular order. I know grieving is different for everyone.

I'm just waiting for my "process" to let me move on.

Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.

Please.