(“FML” stands for “FMyLife,” in case you haven’t seen that site. It’s pretty hilarious.)
Grandma died at noon Thursday. Sooner really, than most of us expected, but not much sooner.
I feel . . . not even grief really, so much as deeply sad. (I know that seems like a semantic difference, and it is, but I associate different feelings with the two emotional states.) I’m glad I went to see her Tuesday night.
But mostly I feel relieved. I’m relieved that I don’t have to go over there tonight (still Thursday) or tomorrow night, when I don’t really have time before my Saturday flight. I would have gone if she were still living, and I was already having short crying jags from the general stress of trying to get ready to go, trying to get my OFFICE ready to go (meaning the 20 people I shepherd around for this convention), and figuring out when I would do laundry, pack, clean the house and still see my grandma before Saturday morning.
I feel kind of like an asshole for saying that I’m relieved, but there it is. It’s one less thing to worry about.
On the downside, I will miss the funeral. I don’t know when it’s planned for yet, but I assume sometime next week, and I’ll be in Florida. There are pros and cons to not going to the funeral, mainly having to do with my extended family, their religious beliefs, my religious beliefs and the general relationships between me and them over the years.
This is my last grandparent to die. And coming so soon on the heels of Grandpa, combined with the stress of the upcoming trip, and studying for LSATs (because I’m re-taking them in December), I feel sort of dissociated from the whole thing. Like I still kind of expect to go over there and see her and her nurses. It’s all a little surreal right now, and missing the funeral won’t alleviate that feeling.
I really want to go home and cry and pull the covers over my head, but I can’t. There’s just too much to do over the next 40 hours or so. Because by this time on Saturday, I will be in Florida. And I still have so much to do.
A friend said to me yesterday that I seemed to be holding up remarkably well, that I must be one of those people who can compartmentalize. I laughed and told him that no, my cheerful demeanor was due to the feeling of my sanity cracking around the edges, and that my laughing felt more like an impending break with reality than like anything resembling real laughter.
And then my mom called and said that Grandma had died, and I was so grateful to work with people I like as friends, because I walked into a co-worker’s office, shut the door and had a meltdown. It was much needed, and let off a lot of steam, but I still feel sort of dissociated and headachey. (My forehead is numb, actually, which is one of my body’s signs that I am under WAYWAYWAY too much stress, and that a serious mental meltdown, a la uncontrollable crying jags or passing out is on the horizon. I can hear my system hollering, “MAYDAY! MAYDAY! FLAME OUT ON ENGINE 3!! RED ALERT!”)
And now I will go home and do laundry and clean out the fridge and clean my house so that tomorrow I can pack and assemble all the last-minute things and get on a plane Saturday morning for a week-long trip.
I will be on a plane forty-eight hours after my grandma died.
Fuck My Life.