Dear Diary...

  ~ * * ~

  “Ow,” I complained sleepily.

  Something painful had awakened me, but I couldn’t get my eyes to open in order to see what it was. Rubbing my behind, I decided I must have been dreaming it. I turned over to go back to sleep.

  “Ow!”

  That was no dream. My eyes jerked open to see an angry Nick standing over me.

  “If you must set your alarm for 5:30 in the morning, the least you could do is wake up and shut the stupid thing off before it wakes up everyone else,” he looked rumpled and grumpy, like he hadn’t slept much.

  Actually, neither of us had.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled trying to ignore my smarting bottom.

  I never took naps, but it would probably be a good day to start. I could barely open my eyes. Nick didn’t look any better.

  By the time I was out of bed, he was gone.

  Stretching took me a lot longer than usual. I was lethargic. Whether through lack of sleep or depression over the recent turn of events, the result was the same. I had no energy.

  In the kitchen, I pulled a water bottle out of the fridge and headed to the front door. I jumped as a dark figure got up from the couch.

  “You have got to stop doing that,” I hissed at him angrily.

  “Doing what,” he asked innocently.

  “Appearing out of nowhere,” I replied irritably. “I thought you went back to bed.”

  “I tried,” he replied testily. Taking my water bottle from me, he asked, “Got anymore of these?”

  “In the fridge, knock yourself out,” I informed him, trying to take back my bottle.

  “Great. I’ll wait on the porch while you go get yourself one,” he said as he turned and went out the front door.

  I stood there a moment, too tired for anger, then slumped back to the kitchen to get another bottle out of the fridge. I took a couple of swigs, and headed towards the front door…again.

  I ignored him and took off running as soon as I hit the ground.

  Once again, we were silent running partners.

  My lack of energy slowed me down considerably; I was barely jogging, much less running. Nick seemed content to stay with whatever pace I chose. I decided to test that theory by varying my speed. Nick stayed right with me the whole time. Maybe he hadn’t been the one setting the fast pace the first time we ran together; maybe I had with my determination to not let him get the best of me.

  Interesting…

  When we arrived back at the house, I suggested that he go ahead and shower. I was feeling a little dehydrated, so I decided to stay in the kitchen and drink some water first. With all of the distractions the night before, I was upstairs before I realized I had forgotten the water, the reason I went downstairs in the first place.

  As soon as I heard him get out of the shower, I headed upstairs to take mine. The cold water revived me a little bit, but I was still worn out, so I decided to relax on the bed for a while.

  I woke up a few hours later to sunshine streaming in the window. I stretched lazily, and lay there staring at the ceiling, no particular thought in my mind. Then my stomach growled.

  So much for relaxation, I thought grumbling, as I got out of bed.

  Breakfast was over and everyone scattered by the time I got downstairs. I poured myself some raisin bran and milk. I was halfway through, reading the back of the box for something to do, when Mark came out of Mom’s bedroom.

  “Hey lazybones,” Mark teased. “Get enough beauty sleep?”

  “You tell me,” I retorted, “You’re the one that has to look at me.”

  “You and Nick may have to take a nap today,” Mark suggested. “Nick was a regular grouch this morning.”

  “It was probably because we got up and ran early this morning after we all had such a late night,” I reasoned.

  “Ah, that would explain it,” Mark nodded. “I heard the shower running, and Nick’s bed was empty, but when I woke up later, Nick was sound asleep. People who run in the mornings need their heads examined,” he said with mock seriousness.

  “I’ll make an appointment as soon as possible,” I promised. “What are you and Mom doing in Mom’s room?” I asked.

  I could hear her still moving around in the bedroom.

  “I was helping her go through Dad’s clothes and stuff,” Mark answered, all joking gone from his voice. “Mom thought I might want to keep a few things.”

  I nodded.

  Was Nick still asleep? I wanted to ask, but didn’t want Mark to think I was interested. Or maybe by not asking, I was giving it more importance than it deserved. Maybe I should ask casually; that would be only natural wouldn’t it?

  Oh my gosh! I thought to myself. This is getting ridiculous. Am I ever going to figure out how to act around him?

  Getting up to rinse my bowl, I asked as nonchalantly as I could, “So, is Nick still asleep?”

  “No,” thankfully, Mark didn’t seem to think the question was out of line, “Mom sent him to the store for a few things.”

  Putting the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, I said, “If Mom doesn’t need me down here I thought I would clean out my closet. I’m thinking there are some things I should get rid of in there.”

  That would be useful and keep me out of Nick’s way at the same time.

  “Sounds good,” Mark said over his shoulder as he headed back to Mom’s room. “I’ll let Mom know. I’m sure she’ll call you if she needs you.”

  I spent the rest of the morning cleaning out my closet, bathroom, desk, and dresser.

  Mark and Nick visiting so much, and spending the night, had pushed me into finding new places to keep the potentially embarrassing personal items I usually kept in the shower and, after checking under the sink and in the small linen closet, it shocked me to discover that so much stuff had accumulated.

  I had major work to do in the bathroom.

  My dresser wasn’t in too bad of shape. I had been 5’8” for the past two years, although I had gained a few pounds, and since, unlike Felicia, I wasn’t much of a clothes horse, I didn’t have that much to go through. I hadn’t bought anything new in a while.

  My closet was a different story. It looked a lot like Mark’s room. I only had a few dress clothes hanging up, preferring casual jeans and shorts to skirts and dresses, so most of the closet consisted of boxes and sacks literally piled to the ceiling. I groaned.

  Changing my mind, I slammed the closet door shut and went to work on the desk. It had to be easier than the closet.

  Pulling open the side drawer, I saw it.

  Worthless pamphlet, I thought in disgust.

  About to toss it in the trash, I changed my mind and decided to give it one more chance. Lists were important to me, even if they weren’t always as cut and dried as I wanted them to be. I had been relieved to know what to expect when the counselor had first given me the pamphlet, but then all the stages seemed to merge in to each other, and sometimes instead of progressing, it looked like I was regressing.

  I had no clear idea of what stage I was in, and I was terribly confused.

  Examining the pamphlet, I decided maybe it was the fourth stage, depression, but I couldn’t recall living the third stage except the short time in between the memorable doctor appointment trip and Dad’s hospitalization when I had asked God to leave things the way there were while I became the good daughter.

  I supposed that meant that I wasn’t much for bargaining. Or maybe bargaining didn’t work for me because I had given up on God for a while. At any rate, I was going to church on a regular basis, and trying to make up for all of my horrible thoughts that God had heard me think. Since I’d been yelling my thoughts at Him, I doubt that He could have missed them.

  Perhaps I was in the bargaining stage, just didn’t realize it. My goals involved getting back into God’s good graces. Hmm…so…how about I would be nice to everyone, except maybe Nick, if
God forgot what a rotten, horrible human being I had been.

  According to the preacher on Sunday, all I need to do was be sincerely sorry, ask for forgiveness, and change my ways. Was that considered bargaining? I wasn’t sure. I hoped whatever it was…it would work. Even though, on the surface I had questioned God’s existence, deep down I believed in hell and didn’t want to go there.

  In retrospect, I was of the opinion that I had been alternately depressed and angry, however, not being one-hundred percent sure that particular depression counted towards the five stages, I worried that a major depression was in my immediate future.

  I was incredibly sad that Dad died, and regretted living in denial and avoidance for so long that I lost valuable time with him, but once he was actually gone, I had almost felt…relieved…mostly for him, but also for me.

  I loathed having to admit that, even to myself, but it was true.

  I knew without a doubt that he hated being that way, helpless and dependent, and how frustrating it was for him to watch Mom struggle and not be able to do anything about it. For him, death was a release and I was glad for both of us as his emotional pain had been too much for me to watch.

  Since I wasn’t sure I truly understood all of my conflicting emotions over Dad’s death, and I knew I would never be able to correctly explain it to anyone else, as usual, I kept it all to myself.

  I wasn’t depressed over his death, not like I had been over his last few years of life. I figured, looking back, it would be safe to say that since I had already gone through some of the grieving stages while he was still alive, the impact of his death had been lessened by a least a tad. I didn’t believe that anyone who hadn’t gone through the same type of thing would understand, but I’d lost him years ago, the true essence of the man I remembered.

  I was mostly upset for Mom, because I knew she would have kept him with her always if she’d had a choice no matter how hard it was for her, regardless of the mindless accusations I had thrown at her in the hospital. Admittedly, I was also a little sad for me…the fact that I had just rediscovered that he was still him and then lost him again.

  However, I would never be upset for Dad. He had to be happier; I needed to believe that. For that reason alone, there had to be a God and a heaven. The alternative was unthinkable. Surely, Dad had suffered enough.

  At times, I wondered if I was finally at the last stage, acceptance. While Dad was alive, I realized, I would have had a very difficult time reaching that stage. I doubt I could have ever convinced myself, “Hey, this is just how it is; get over it.”

  With Dad gone, I had closure to all of the emotions that had run amuck inside of me for years. As long as he was alive, there was always something worse waiting around the corner to jump me. I lived on the edge, always listening for the other shoe to drop. The stress inside of me that accompanied his progressive disease had grown in direct proportion to the growth of the disease.

  Looking back, I understood that denial was my only defense against the constant onslaught of shattering events that were totally out of my control. I couldn’t stop anything, so my brain shut down and refused to accept what was happening.

  My anger had surfaced when my brain could no longer deny what was going on; when I had been forced to face things I hadn’t wanted to face. I’d been angry with everyone, even myself, because I couldn’t make sense of all the bad things that seemed to come out of nowhere.

  However, understanding the motives behind my behavior didn’t preclude me from suffering the consequences of those actions.

  My main reaction to Mom was guilt. I was driven to make up for the way I had treated her and Dad. That was why I’d wanted to comfort her when I’d heard her crying…guilt….and I felt guilty about feeling guilty. I just couldn’t win.

  I still had anger, but it wasn’t the same as it was before. I was mostly angry with Nick. He had forced me to take a good long look at myself in the mirror, and I didn’t like the view. I hadn’t been angry because he called me a spoiled brat, but because I knew he wasn’t wrong.

  Nick had been right to stop me from barging in on Mom, whatever his reasons. He had also been correct in accusing me of not paying attention to anyone but me. I was selfish, but I was unreasoningly angry with him for pointing it out.

  Well, at least I was admitting my anger was unreasonable. Maybe that was a good sign. I could only hope.

  “CeeCee,” Mark called, knocking at my door “lunch time.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  Changing my mind about tossing it, I placed the pamphlet carefully back in the drawer. I still wasn’t sure that it fit me very well, but it was a list, and I needed something to cling to…sad testimony to my life.

  With a sigh turned groan, I resigned myself to the fact that I had to face Nick sooner or later.

  May as well get it over with, I grumbled, and headed for the stairs.