More suck from the process known as grief

I call my mom a couple times a day.  I don't know how else to be there for her when we live about 20 miles away and I have to work about 30 miles away from her house.  I couldn't call this morning so I sent her a text and asked about her dog who was at the vet getting her teeth cleaned.  

Matt will be here tomorrow afternoon.  He was lucky to get the emergency leave, though they made him pay for the ticket and use his leave, we simply don't care.  While we aren't having a memorial service until this summer, we are having a family dinner where we'll all have the opportunity to share with each other, find comfort, and talk to my mom about the future.   

I wonder when this will get easier?  I know it takes time, I've done it before, talked with others who have, and still I'd just like to know I'll be on the other side.  

One moment changed everything.  FYI, freak accidents happen.  I think that's whats so hard.  HE SLIPPED ON THE FUCKING ICE!  I've slipped 15 times since he fell and I didn't die!  I didn't even fall on my butt!  Ugh.  

Also, I just learned that research says swearing helps us to be more resilient.  I've got a life to put back together people, so if you don't like the swearing, fuck off.

  

Grief and WTAF?

This last six days have been fucking surreal.  Did I say that already?  I'm talking to my mom tonight and realize we're talking about giving away all of my dad's clothes, shoes, and coats.  What the ACTUAL Fuck?  

I was watching Gray's Anatomy today and some guy's dad died.  Perfect viewing material.  Fuck me.  Anyway, he said he couldn't imagine a world where his dad wasn't alive.  Me either!  My life has become small, I'm living in a bubble, and I know I can't stay here forever - I have a job, clients, and a family.   I have bills to pay and responsibilities to attend to.  

I have to figure out how to deal with it, process it, and then begin to put it behind me.  But what did I do yesterday?  I reveled in isolation with my family.  I got angry.  I talked to my mom about giving my dads stuff away and I felt like I was watching a movie.  This can't be real, right?  I have no idea who I'm angry with, I'm just angry sometimes.  It wells up like vomit from the pit of my stomach and fills my whole being with an intense white-hot anger... and then, when I can't figure out who to be angry with, it subsides and I feel empty and alone.

Edit:
In case you couldn't tell, my dad died.  He took his last breath and his heart stopped beating at 5:55pm on 1/11/15. WTAF?

God's Dirty Joke... And the one where I say FUCK a lot

My dad fell on the ice.  We all fall on the ice sometimes, unless you live in a tropical climate and never leave - to which I say, aren't you just special...?

So my dad fell on the ice in his driveway and hit his head.  But he didn't just hit his head, he slammed it against the ground, bouncing his brain back and forth in his skull.  

That will fucking kill you.  

Thirty-six hours later we're sitting in the hospital waiting (is that even the right word?!) for him to die.  The neurosurgeon used the word miracle when referring to his chances of recovery.  They were willing to do radical surgery if we wanted it, but the best outcome we could hope for was that he would need to live in a nursing home and be cared for the rest of his days.  That is NOT the life my dad would want.

It's a quarter to three in the morning; my mother and I are keeping vigil while my daughter and husband doze.  My mother is struggling with the stress of the hours of wakefulness and the crushing grief that threatens to incapacitate her.  I feel like I'm living in some surreal fucking wonderland where I should wake from any minute.  This cannot be happening - how does a slip on the ice change the very foundations of your existence?!

It's not God's fault.  God doesn't cause bad things to happen, he doesn't have his finger on the pulse of every fucking person on the planet.  God will however, offer a hand, tell my dad a dirty joke, and welcome him into the afterlife.  Once there, my dad will meet my father and my son.  They'll hang out awhile, and my dad will tell my father how proud he is of me. 

I don't know if that's the way it will happen, but I need to believe that God will tell my dad a dirty joke.  

This was the view from my dads hospital room just before 2am.  I felt lonely and the scene is both hopeful and empty.