Guilt

I go back to work tomorrow. Someone else at work lost their father, so I am going to cover two of their shifts this week. Mom is happy I'm going back, and I'm sure everyone else is, too. It has been a question I've been asked frequently. Am I ready? I don't think so. Will I ever be ready? Probably not. Life waits for no one, unfortunately. How I wish I could just push pause and sit in the cocoon of stillness and quiet it would create. But I can't.

I'm scared to go back. Isn't that stupid? It's not that I'm scared of going to work. I'm scared of leaving the house, period. Leaving the house makes me feel like I'm separated from my family, and right now that is the last thing I want. Home is a safe place, it's where my family is. Even if I'm there by myself, I still feel connected to my family. It's where we all converge and meet and share. The idea of leaving the house for lengths of time terrifies me.

I was late getting to the hospital that day because no one could find me. My aunt went to work to find me, and I'd gone home. People are able to find me when I'm at home. It's the natural place to look for someone. And now I'm afraid to leave it. Spending 10 hours away tomorrow is going to be a challenge. I doubt I'll ever feel ready for that challenge. This is just silly, to be afraid to leave.

I feel like I'm letting people down because this is so hard. Everyone keeps encouraging me to think of happy things, to keep moving, to smile because of who he was, to not focus on the loss, but it's hard. Because I can't do it consistently, I feel like I'm failing. This doesn't make any sense, but I don't know how to explain it. It's illogical and stupid, too. This isn't a matter that other people get to weigh in on. But I feel guilty, and awful, for not being able to follow the advice of the poems and words and stories that everyone keeps giving me. Be positive, be happy, don't be sad he's gone. I don't know how to do that because it turns into a cycle. Good memories remind me that I can't make anymore good memories. Funny stories remind me there aren't going to be any new funny stories. Then I feel guilty for not being able to do what people want me to do and it just keeps piling up.

I'm ridiculous