I'm swiftly approaching the point at which I will do one of these things:
1. Curl up in a ball and rock back and forth humming tunelessly to myself.
2. Begin throwing random items at people, walls, vehicles, whatever happens to be near me at the time.
3. Be arrested for:
- A: Public intoxication, after which it will be discovered that my BAC is actually .000
- B: Assault on one of two females who seem to be hell bent on making Every. Damn. Thing. About. Them.
- C: Desecration of a grave site/unlawful discharge of a firearm. (I still say he'd think that rolling a keg into his grave and shooting it before they put him in the hole was awesome.)
- D: Any combination of the above.
Yes, it's rough. No, I'm not really ok. I actually don't really want to talk about my feelings because I can't adequately put them into words. Anyone who has been through it knows, and anyone who hasn't just doesn't have the reference. It doesn't make them bad people or mean that they can't sympathize, just that they won't really understand no matter how much you explain. Kind of like child birth.
I've almost got everything taken care of for his parents, I'm almost to the point where I can stop being efficient and just let go... but when I get to that point it means it's time to say goodbye and I am definitely not ready for that. But then, no one is ever ready to say goodbye to a baby brother, but we aren't given much choice.
So, I'll put on the shirt bearing his number and nickname in the morning, and I'll put on makeup that I'm just going to cry off (hey, he's wearing makeup, the least I can do is wear it with him) and I'll make sure that everything is right, and ready. Then I'll sit with my other family and we'll cry on each other as we realize that we really have to let go.
No matter how much we don't want to.
(I think R is running the betting pool, so if you want in on that you're gonna have to find her.)