But that's what writers do. Stuff happens to us, and we write about it. But I really don't want to.
My grandmother, my mom's mother, passed away early this morning, and I don't know what to say about it.
When my grandfather died in 2011, I tried to say something, and I sort of did, but still not really.
I know that this should feel different from when Papa died. His was sudden and unexpected, and I'm still very angry about it at times. Grandma's health had been declining for a long time. She had been slowly fading away from us for a long time.
I should be happy that she's with Jesus, that she isn't suffering anymore, all of that stuff that Christians say to make themselves feel better.
But I still want to stop feeling things and crawl into bed and sleep forever, just like when Papa died. Maybe that's just how I deal with death. I just don't want to think about it.
Or really anything bad, come to think of it. I'd like to believe that sleep, wine, chocolate, and episodes of Doctor Who will make everything better. But that's like putting a band-aid over a bullet hole and expecting the bleeding to stop.
I know that at some point I'll have to stop and feel this, think about this. But, like a true procrastinator, I'll do it later. For now, I'll pretend that sleep, wine, chocolate, and episodes of Doctor Who will make everything better.