Tired deep inside

I just glanced out the window to my left at the raindrops running down the glass. It's a murky greyish-white haze in the distance - over the mountains - and I feel like the weather is reflecting my perspective on life. That and my chipping black fingernail polish.

If I were to compare, I'd say this week has been much better than last week. I feel a bit more "normal" this week. I think big, emotional events hit us in unexpected ways. While I've lived with my grandpa for more than 2 years, and while he's been a part of the fabric of my family life and "home," it wasn't like I'd claim him as one of my best friends. Of course, we'd talk, but our roles were always defined as grandfather/granddaughter.

Perhaps that's why I feel a little surprised over my reaction and response to his death. Granted, I haven't DONE much, it's more what I don't do - or, more accurately, don't have.

Last week, I had no emotional buffer zone. I had a few difficult incidents with students - nothing really out of the ordinary, but I FELT like they were huge events. I also had a frustrating talk with my boyfriend - who is currently in England, which doesn't help with conversations - where I felt like he was wanting sympathy or compassion or SOME kind of emotional response, and honestly, I just couldn't respond with anything. I found myself falling back on my logic, and that was frustrating for him, which was frustrating for me, because I knew I was frustrating him, and I didn't WANT to be, but I just didn't know how to not respond in logic when I had no reserves of emotions to offer. (I think I said something along the lines of, "Maybe you're tired and just need some sleep, Gabe." - isn't that the irony? Offering advise I should be taking!)

This week has been better, though. During my Friday afternoon meeting with my friend Amber she told me, "Dani, you need to go into cranky-Amber mode and stop being your social, giving, self right now, and make sure YOU have time to rest and process." I left promising to do so. That involved sleeping for almost 12 hours Friday night.

Last week I felt like I existed in some kind of weird, alternate time. I went about my regular duties and responsibilities, but I didn't feel like I was engaging with them. This week I feel like I'm dabbling in them. But I still find at least a small part of myself - more previlent at the time of this writing - trying to tuck myself away somewhere quiet so I can allow myself time to feel. But it's an overwhelming prospect. Maybe the rain outside will help, though...

"And here we take our unexpected goodbye..."

**copied from a facebook note I wrote yesterday**

While I have been living with my aging grandparents for over 2 years now - and see on a daily basis the fragility of humanity demonstrated in their careful shuffle between rooms, their slightly shaky hands as they offer me a paper, and their slow and purposeful movements of putting on a coat or lacing up their shoes - I'm not sure I ever would have been prepared to see one of them wrapped in a blanket on the floor when I came home from "just another day."

Last week I was in Portland at a conference the latter half of the week, and had come home Friday to have a little R&R before heading south again Saturday for the day. Saturday morning, like normal, my Grandpa was sitting in his chair sipping French Vanilla International Coffee and working on an old-fashioned, glazed donut.

I wish I had the ability to recall what words were exchanged between us - I'm sure it was the normal, customary morning conversation (He would say as I was dashing out the door in high heels, with five bags hanging off my shoulders, a half-peeled, half-eaten banana in my mouth, a stack of papers under my arm, a lunch balanced in one hand, and putting my coat on with the other: "The working girl is off, huh?" or "Have a good day, now," or "You have to work today? Don't they ever give you a break?"), where I outlined my plans for the day, and he would nod, probably tuning me out because it's not really all THAT interesting, but maintaining eye contact to show he cared. But I don't remember. I can recall his bright blue eyes with vivid precision, I can picture his cheeky grin when he was saying something inappropriate, and I can even picture the motley details of the skin on his hands and face, but I do not remember what he said to me during our last conversation.

Although he turned 90 last summer, his death Saturday still caught me by complete surprise. When I figured out that something was going on - I'd received a kryptic text message - I called various family member's cell phones, figuring either Grandma or Grandpa had needed to go to the hospital. I didn't call my own house right off the bat, because it never occurred to me that there would be no need for the hospital at the end.

The last 48 hours have seemed like at least 3 weeks to live through... Late night conversations with my family draped around the family room at my house - my grandparent's home for 50+ years, - a strangely peaceful weeding session with my cousin, Grandma turning pink in the rare sunshine while "bossing" us around from her folding chair, countless dishes, sweeping the floor, cleaning the bathroom, opening and closing windows, and making tea in bulk. It's seemed like time as I usually interact with it has temporarily stopped, and I'm just kind of existing in this long, drawn out moment.

I noticed this morning as I walked through the still-dark and Grandpa-absent family room to leave that someone had picked up Grandpa's shoes from beside his chair. I was sad. Somehow that seems more confirming to Grandpa's death than even the funeral home people's solemn and formal presence late Saturday night, all the company yesterday, and the conversations that continue about what to put in the obituary and the sharing of stories.

I've had many text messages, voicemail messages, facebook messages, and hugs these past 2 days, and I am sincerely so appreciative of the care and support of each. Thank you. Thank you for praying for my family and for me. Thank you for expressing that you care. Thank you for your offers to help and support us in any way during this season. I am blessed by your presence, and comforted as I begin to recognize the extent of the absence of my grandfather's. I would so appreciate continued prayers over us - over me. Pray for the decisions, pray that God would be glorified, pray that we would be strengthened and encouraged by each other and by our shared heritage. Pray for my energy and ability to be able to focus this week grading stacks of homework, writing a midterm, and keeping on top of planning. Pray for my dad and his siblings and my grandmother - that their memories of Grandpa would be, ultimately, a comfort. Pray for rest and peace for all of us.