Friday, March 13, 2009

Dysfunctional Departures

My dad is dead. I'm sad and angry and still I want to laugh and make up a silly clapping rhyme. I need to write about his death. I need to write about his life. But instead I escape. Acting out, doing virtually anything sober to not feel my feelings. I want to run but he's still dead. I want to fight. Still dead. I want to dive into self pity. Yup. Dead dad still dead. Woah. All those people grieving dead parents were not just wooses.

1 comment:

  1. Oh Julie, I'm so sorry to catch up and read of your loss. We are a small nuclear family, only my Dad, my sister and I now and every day I watch him grow older and less able and wonder what I will do when he goes to join my Mum. You put it into words, in your usual pithy and no nonsense way, the scary reality of our own aging. Big hugs, for losing your Dad, for losing your Ken, for YOU.

    I know about the commitment-phobe crap, too...