My mourning cycle is probably different than yours. I hear the news. I sob uncontrollably until I can't breath. I get up and spring into action. I wait until later to cry. Oh sure, little springs of tears pop up in the beginning, in the hugs and the stories and while I chop the onions for dinner or take that extra long shower...but after awhile I am all mission no mercy...for myself anyhow.
Day one usually finds me making lists and rallying the troups to make sure everyone is fed and has a little light in the end of their darkness. Day two finds me checking things off and sometimes that lasts well into day three or four until at last every item has been taken care of. And there are moments when the stories touch my heart or the memories get too close to home. Moments in the shower mostly where I break down and sob.
Today, I finished the last thing on the funeral checklist along with my mom. Urns, viewing suits, pictures for slide shows, music selections, pastor meetings, eulogy writing...it's all done. I even know what everyone is going to wear and where the baby is going to go. After I got home, while the baby was still napping and Jon was on the computer I went upstairs to take a nap, laid on my bed and let it soak into me.
It didn't push me into the crazy. It didn't break me into the depressed. It just flooded me and then it drained from me like a steady leak. And, now I feel dried out and dusty. I feel like if you pick me up and give me a good shake I could rain dust around my feet at the floor. Ashy and light dust the kind that sticks to you and makes your skin grey and dry.
To watch someone who was so good at being alive leave a life he was loving to live. It is liking the summer sun dry out the valley soul. The cracks left behind will heal with the rain but their tracks will be visible for a long time coming.