Anger. Oh boy. Almost everything makes me angry. My older sister wrote me a nice long email full of “helpful” grief information. Literally page after page. But the only thing my heart locked onto was the phrase that after something terrible happens the world beats a path to your door for five minutes. And my five minutes is up.

I realize she can’t be my person through this and can’t support me in my grief. So why keep writing about it?!?!?!?!? Just SHUT UP already!

Yes okay, I wrote and answered several questions she specifically asked me. But I can’t NOT mention grief in answer to how I am. It’s my entire world right now, right or wrong. I don’t know how to be any other way. It accompanies me daily on everything I do. Understandably, I think. And I wrote only a handful of sentences on the subject. She responded with volumes.

She had a particular interest in asking why I expect direction from God. Why would God bother basically. The world and life are random and willy nilly and we make of it what we do. Or don’t. Maybe she’s right. I’ve been waiting for God to send me some purpose. Why? Not sure. Maybe because I feel like I have nothing else left. He has to do something. And maybe that’s not the way it is. Maybe it’s me that has to do something.

Her whole email made me want to scream in frustration, but maybe she can serve a purpose since she sucks so bad at emotional support. Make me angry enough to do something my own damn self.

Potential good news on the job front today, the Program Manager at an environmental firm wrote and told me I was her top pick of the AT&T group downsized by the budget cuts, and to be patient, they’re assessing their hiring needs now. It would be a huge relief to be doing familiar work and not starting out in a new industry. I felt a lot of relief.

So much that I went to bed at 3:30 and didn’t get back up until 7 when Mama brought me fish cakes, French fries, and baked beans. It’s such an unreal treat each day to be able to enjoy her cooking. Daddy has no idea how spoiled he is!

I got the boxes I brought from home out of the car today. I determined NOT to go through them. Just can’t yet. But I could see a rich purple cloth through a slit in the box. The cape I made Ben for a church play at Oak Hill Baptist when he was about 5. He loved that cape! He was King Solomon. It was soft velveteen material with glitter peacocks all over it. I sobbed carrying the boxes to the barn. But never stopped, just sobbed and kept going. Maybe that’s what it means to move forward through grief. Cry and keep going. Fucking misery.