Miserable

The grief books say to socialize. To get out there.  To LIVE life.  Honestly, all I could do today was drink whiskey and diet coke.  Something, I never do.  But the pain is overwhelming.  Usually, I would be wondering what I should send my mother on her birthday this Friday, be it flowers, a gift, or wondering if I should wait to give her something awesome until I see her next.  Usually, it would be flowers, and then I would see her and give her an awesome gift of sorts.  Expensive jewelry or perfume or a purse or a massage….something. Today, I realize there would be nothing I would give her.  All I will have is her memory.  The memory of her touch, her love, her song.  It’s so sad. What’s worse is the loneliness that comes attached.  I had multiple plans this weekend.  A birthday. A trivia challenge. But for what?  There is no joy in smiling my fake smile, lipstick, make-up, mascara, blow dry. What for? My mother is gone.  There is no joy in this.  There is no fix. No love. Nothing.  I spoke to my sister-in-law today.  I am strangely closer to her than I am to my brother, right now.  She had the luxury of having a close relationship to her father and I had the luxury of having a close relationship to my mother, but she understands.  Meanwhile, my brother works on his 1980 Blazer parked in the drive.  This is a signal to all of us that he is going through his pain, in his own way.  I love him and I worry about him.  Meanwhile, my stepfather sits in my mother’s house while the dogs piss on the wooden floors she had installed two days before she passed.  They are ruined now. We all are.

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