On Tuesday night, Papa Bear and I had a big (and very stupid) fight. Not a yelling match, just a hushed, emotional mess. We’d stayed up way too late, and neither of us were at our best. So, yesterday morning (after exchanging some somewhat obligatory apologies and sending him off to work), I didn’t want to get out of bed. I like the one two steps forward, but I hate the two one step back. My phone was dead, which was fine with me. I didn’t feel like talking. I left it on my bed and crawled to the couch to watch some preselected Discovery Channel shows with the kids (it was discovery day, but too cold to play outside…which was also just fine with me).
Sometime around ten o’clock, Papa Bear walked through the front door. It was too early for lunch, but he does pop in from time-to-time throughout the work day (which has made the move 100% worth it!). I looked up and gave him a half smile, because that seemed to be all I could muster. He didn’t return the favor.
“You didn’t get my text, did you?”
I hadn’t. But it seems the world keeps turning, even when I try to tune it out. And my father-in-law had died.
I ran to my husband, and I wrapped my arms around him as he began to cry. I told him I was sorry, and then I offered chamomile tea. Like my dormant Texas accent that comes out of hiding when I’m angry or especially tired, both grieving and comforting return me to my roots. So, I moved in to the kitchen. Fried eggs, fried wontons, chicken fried steak…you should see a pattern forming here.
The service has been delayed for six weeks, which will give us enough time to plan. We’re finally taking the kids to California (San Francisco), just not under the circumstances we’d hoped to. And to the Grand Canyon, too, it seems. We have ashes to scatter there.
There’s so much more to say, but I just don’t have the heart for it at the moment. I’ll be back soon. If you need me before then, I’ll be in the kitchen.