Nightgowns

Last week there was a storm on Wednesday. I didn't have to work. On Tuesday night I stopped on my way home at Stop and Shop. It's in a huge shopping center, it's difficult to get to, there are always lots of cars. I walked around, picked up milk, orange juice, some cookies to make. Snow day food. I called Adam and asked if he wanted anything. He asked me where I was, was I at Shop-Rite. Oh. I still have a $10 gift card there. Why aren't I at Shop-Rite, in Hoboken, where I can zip in and out speedy quick....it made me think of stories I heard after 9/11. A widow went food shopping in her nightgown in the middle of the day. Grief clouds your thinking. Thank God for Adam. I left Stop and Shop, all the stuff in the cart, and went to Shop-Rite.

Last night in bed I felt like I wanted to cry. But not enough to actually let it out. I feel like I got the easy assignment. My daily life is still the same. I come home to Adam, I go to work, I do my thing. My dad said that he feels like he's waiting for my mom to come home. He moved her van further into the driveway so he didn't have to see it so much.

I know that she's gone. I don't know why I'm thinking about how it will feel to grieve on certain days instead of just grieving now. I'm afraid. I don't want a wet face. I don't want black running down my face. I don't want my nose to get full of snot. I don't want to need tissues or hugs from Adam. I want something to make me cry so I can get it over with. But I don't know what that is.

One Week Ago

One week ago today my mother died. She was 50. She had breast cancer that spread to the lining of her abdomen, after 8 years of being cancer-free. I will chronicle my grief on this site to the best of my ability. I began writing e-mails last week after I went home, to communicate to the masses as best I could. It was easier than calling people individually. I could cry and write e-mails and nobody could hear. And it was much easier to get through. I knew that everyone was getting the same information, the same way, at the same time. Eventually I'll post those e-mails here. For now I'll write about my mom, her battle, my sadness. It may be a good way for me to grieve.