One Month

It's been one month and a few days since Dad died. 

I'm the worst person to talk or write about feelings and experiences so deep and profound like losing a parent. 

Most of my days and nights since the funeral have been spent in constant care of the girls. All of them. Lucy is teething horrifically and will scream herself awake ( and the rest of the neighborhood) up to five times each night. Leah continues to have endless piles of homework and drama from school, convinced she is being bullied when actually someone is just looking at her. Hannah decided to adopt her role as Middle Child with martyrdom and tells me everyday that she's been replaced by Jacob and Lucy. Both are handling grief in their own way, though Leah's way is to talk loudly about every detail and give unfounded opinions repeatedly. I secretly wish she'd stop.  They need me-- to get out of bed, run the house, play Clue, and be solid. It's been a year and a half of trauma and instability. Does this ever get better? Was I such an unrefined, rough, dull person that I needed to be shattered completely and rebuilt from the ground up?

There's no opportunity for me to sit at home for long, silent hours and feel the loss. Not that I need that.  But it's been hard to jump right back into life while my chest is filled with ice and bricks and my mind is clouded. I'm constantly worried about my mother and siblings and wonder how we're going to evolve without Dad. 

Elder Scott said a few years ago, "All of us will live for our appointed amount of time." I truly, truly believe that none of this was a mistake or freak accident. Dad is exactly where he is supposed to be. I am exactly where I'm supposed to be-- in this dark, crappy Brooklyn apartment, sending my kids to wildly diverse schools and raising a baby in the city.