So. We laid my grandmother to rest. I’m back home in Wisconsin after several days in Wisconsin. And the guilt is beginning to set in.
It’s hard being so far away while my aunt and my brother have to deal with all the hard stuff – my Pop is not in the best health at ninety-three years of age – and they have some major decisions to make. And I’m here, sitting on my butt. I felt this way after Daddy died, too. Empty, guilty, and sad to my bones. And this time I’ve piled on some more by bringing home my Maw Maw’s handicapped cat, Toby. He’s wobbly, incontinent, and only four years old. Yeah, I’m a sucker for punishment. But he’s adorable, and just wants love and a chance. And I couldn’t leave him living in my brother’s shop, filthy, underfoot, and needing much more care and time than my brother can give him right now. (And don’t think I’m judging my bro. He carries the weight of my family, and dammit, that’s enough.)
My anxiety has ramped up; I’m grinding my teeth because I’m gritting my jaw constantly, and I’m sleeping a lot to try to shut off my brain. And when I’m awake, I’m counting, one of my stress-related habits. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself, but I’m not sure how one does that when you’ve lost someone you adored. I’ve got the big-girl panties, but I’m fumbling the pulling up of and wearing of at the moment.