Days fly by. Yet I feel them drag. I sometimes stop whatever I’m doing. Just pause. And it all rushes back to me without any warning. It’s easy to forget it seems. I find myself thinking she’s just in the hospital, or the next room. But it never takes long to remember. Yesterday I asked my grandmother a question, and without pausing, she said, “Does Karen not know?” It made my heart hurt to hear her say that. So much.

It doesn’t matter how many hours of sleep I get, I still feel tired. Drained. I toss and turn at night. And I don’t remember dreaming much. Sometimes I think I’m forgetting what she looked like healthy, walking, or laughing. The only thing that lingers in my mind is how sickly she appeared, but I know I can’t remember her that way. I try not to, but it’s been so long. So I yearn to dream about her. In hopes of just getting a glimpse of what it used to be like.

I want to share so much with her. I catch myself thinking, I need to tell, or show mommie that, and usually I remember then, because little things takes my mind away for short periods of time. Whether it be through reading, watching tv, or little things like that that takes up my attention. I’m not prepared to live life without her. Sure, I can talk to her all the time, and she’ll listen, but it’s not the same. It never will be. It’s too soon.

Small bouts of panic comes up suddenly, too. I’ll be folding laundry, or cooking, or just entering the living room she stayed in, and I’ll comprehend that she isn’t there to hold on to, or see, or hear.

Memories of when things were so much better keep flying through my head, and burying themselves painfully into me. I remember these stages of my life, separated by years, moving, people, or actions. Change happens so often, so unexpectedly. Why can’t life just pause for a while? So you can hold on to someone…because you might wake up one morning to find them gone, and the regrets, guilt, and what-if’s tearing into you relentlessly. I just wish I knew what happened. If there was nothing to be done - some sort of reassurance it’s better this way.

I try to tell myself that, that it’s better. But it’s not. My mother is gone. My rock, my hero, my listener, and heart. We were attached at the hip with that special relationship not many mother’s and daughter’s have. We had few secrets, could talk about anything, and she always knew what to say or do to make it better. And she’s not here anymore…It’s just too soon.

Another day. It’s the first day since she’s been gone that my grandmother and I have been all alone. It’s just us now. We sat in bed most of the day and watched TV. We laughed at the funny parts, but its not the kind of laughing that keeps a smile on your face. You laugh, smile, but then the moment passes, you remember all over again, and it fades. You find your face falling again, the lines and creases pinching into a painful expression one can only describe as sorrow.

The dog knows, I think. Knows she wont be coming back. All her hospital trips, I’d tell her Mommie would be home soon, but I know she’s smart enough to realize I haven’t said it this time. Last night I took the video camera my mom got for her birthday this past January downstairs so my grandmother wouldn’t hear it. I saw her. She looked so sick, I broke down, and called her name. But I know she’s not suffering anymore like she was on the camera. Not having to be dependant on oxygen or a hospital bed in the living room. It was bad for a while. How she stayed so strong I’ll never know. I only hope I inherited some of that strength to get through this.

After that clip of her, I went to one where she had filmed the dog all excited, in my lap, and loving on me like she does. In the film you could hear my mom in the background calling, “Do you love sissy?” She said it over and over, and Happy would get even more excited. I had stopped crying then I believe, but then I heard the dog run down the stairs upon hearing it. I saw the hopeful look on her face and broke down all over again. When we returned upstairs, the dog went and laid down in her bed, that same sorrowful expression both my grandmother and I share befalling her small face. I don’t care who says dogs are stupid, or don’t have feelings. It’s a lie.

Tomorrow my great aunt Ellen is coming to help me get the bills and things organized. I’ve compiled a list with my friend Megan’s help, now I just have to put it in action. So much harder then it sounds. Too much to do, yet the days so far seem to drag on and on. So slow. I know I should be doing something more productive while I’m struggling to fill the seconds, but I can’t seem to do that. I’ll start to do something, mind set, then I’ll find myself just sitting down, or lying down, or watching something on the computer or television. I also read a little. I can’t seem to bring myself to do anything else. I’m only eating to keep Me-Me company I think. Maybe I’ll finally lose some weight.

Tuesday evening after the funeral my house had ten people in it. We all ate together, our neighbors Alma and Larry had brought dinner both Monday and Tuesday. So many people. So many more than I’m used to. All a mix of emotions. Overwhelming, tiresome, grateful for a distraction, yet wishing to be left alone. Though I know a lot of alone time probably isn’t the best for neither my grandmother or I for a while. I do appreciate everyone’s support. I’m just unsure of how to express it.

Sometimes I feel selfish for all these people doing things for us. It’s my job. I know it sounds silly, but laundry, cleaning, and doing little things like that has been my job for so long I don’t know how to do anything else, so I feel awkward when someone else does them. Grateful, but awkward. I feel like they shouldn’t have to. And I feel bad they’re doing it, because they all have families, or jobs, or things they need to get done. Though I suppose a lot of it wouldn’t get done right now. I don’t know.

My dad has started to call every day now. I’m glad. I feel like he’s closer to me, though I wished he lived nearby. Him being remarried and living in North Carolina, I only see him every few years. On Tuesday as we were all sitting there eating I looked around at everyone, half listening to the meaningless conversations about politics, or real estate, or tea makers. He wasn’t there for dinner, but I realized I couldn’t remember the last time any member of family, or a number of friends of ours got together like that, and it only made me inwardly shake my head in sadness. Sadness in realizing it took someone to die to bring people closer together.

New things happening. Standing still. A new life. A lot of changes. I don’t care if anyone reads this or not. It’s just a blog where I’m writing what’s on my mind.

I wrote a poem the other day. It said how I had tons of words, but nothing to say. That isn’t true. I have so much going on, so many thoughts in my head, it’s hard to catch up.

This will seem jagged - incomplete. Broken up in bits that matches the chaos in my head. I’ll switch from one thing to the next, and possibly back again. No, not possibly. Definitely. Here I go.

It’s been five days since my mother passed away. Just typing those words sends waves of pain wash over my heart, so dark and thick, it robs me of breath - it leaves my heart sick just knowing I will never hug her, hear her voice, or be able to receive the wisdom and guidance she so often shared. About life, about hopes, dreams, and how we could do anything we wanted so long as we had each other.

Where does that leave me? I feel like I’m void of all purpose. I’m not sure how to live life without seeing her every day. I believe it is for the better, and that she’s with God. I believe that. She was so sick for so long, I know she’s better off now - she’s not suffering. Like my grandmother said, we had prayed and prayed she would get well and whole again…perhaps this was the only way.

I’m listening to Like a Pill by Pink. It’s one of the songs an old, old friend of mine and I used to listen to on MTV around the time my grandfather passed away. It was a sad, displaced time that I associate with my friend, because she was with me every step of the way. I hear the songs we listened to, remember the look and feel of the den as we had multiple slumber parties on an air mattress that summer. I remember the squeeze cheese. All of those memories aren’t bad ones - they’re good. It helps me cope with his loss even almost eight years later. That’s saying something.

The song started over. What will help me cope this time? It’s just me and Me-Me now. And Happy, and Shammy. It’s now going to be my job to take care of things. Money wise, house wise. I feel lost now. Light headed from being so overwhelmed so quickly, yet there’s that constant worry, constant panic - what if something happened to Me-Me? My dad? That leaves me all by my self.

My dad said I’m always welcome with him on down the road - I’ll never be homeless. I’m grateful for that, but who knows. Here and now is how I need to live, unfortunately. I’m constantly remembering things. Memories, both bad, awful, good, and great. It makes me hurt to remember, though. Makes me want to turn back time with all the knowledge of things I have now - do some things different. Lots of things.

I’ll finish this later. Nate is pulling away from his stuff to play XBOX Live with me. Perhaps this will help me cope.

I waited to stop playing XBOX to post this. It’s amazing to know who your friends are - true ones - even if you haven’t always kept in contact with them. It helps.