Nobody puts baillee in the corner

It’s officially been one week since KP passed away, and I’ve learned one thing: Grief is so freakin’ weird.

I keep a tight schedule during my work week, and I’ve had to check three times what day it is. One second, I’m fine. The next, I want to melt into a puddle of my own tears. I don’t know how much to talk about my mom to my friends. I don’t know how honest to be about my mom’s final moments. I don’t know how much is too much, but I also don’t want to sound too cavalier.

The other day, my sister said she wanted to run out into the middle of street and yell about how our mother died because for everyone else, it’s just business as usual. I wholeheartedly agree.

I’m about to do a deep cut, so bear with me. I’ve talked about this before, but I don’t ever want to be perceived as Daria in the “Misery Chick” episode where people go to her to talk about their grief/how they should be grieving because she seems so miserable and bleak all the time – I’m self-conscious about my own grief.

I don’t want to bring down the mood or blab on to people about my feelings. I also don’t want to bum anyone out because so few of my friends have lost their parents because we’re so young. I feel horrible asking for help because the world is on fire right now. Basically, if you can think of a statement that consists of I feel _____ because _____, it’s probably accurate.

It’s like I’m stuck in this weird state where I want to grieve, but I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable with any of my dark jokes or any of the bizarre details of my day. I don’t know how many people want to hear that my day consisted of eating breakfast, taking a shower, and going through all of my mother’s belongings. Or going to the funeral home. Or telling her dog she loved him so much. Or creating a plan for shutting off her cell phone.

I don’t feel like a complete human being. I feel tattered around the edges like a pair of denim cutoffs that you leave in the bottom of your closet and only stumble upon every now and then. I don’t feel whole because KP took up so much of my heart and soul. Plus, I feel bad about even publishing this because it’s such a bummer.

I keep trying to push forward, but every time I think of the future, I realize my mom won’t be in it. She won’t be there to talk to if start dating again. She won’t be expecting a text whenever I write a new piece I’ve told her about. She just won’t be there.

I usually have a better way to end my posts, but for once, I’m at a total loss. How do you end something you’re currently going through? What is the best conclusion for a part of my life that’s just beginning? I sincerely don’t know.