Ho boy. Let’s try that again: Hi, ma!
What to report? Not much, really. Eric & I are both really concerned about dad. He’s not really handling things– & you know THE things particularly well. He’s also not really making an effort to reach out. You know how he is. Makes me think of that time I came home from school, tried to have it out with him, & he just snickered at me, & would up taking a shower.
We sat on the bed, waiting for him to come out, me up to my eyes with frustration or whatever, and you just put your hand on my heaving neck, & told me that this was how he processed things.
I thought I got it a bit, back then. I’m certain I get it now. He doesn’t really process things like we do. I think he’s waiting for the universe to hand him the next step.
I’m not really certain how I feel about him, other than sympathetic, loving, & having a sense of pity that’d probably kill him.
IN THE INTEREST OF THAT, I reached out to Amy [last name removed– my mother’s doctor] today, asking her to follow up with him, perhaps to recommend to him a grief support group. It’s probably going to fall on deaf ears, but I need to try– his gallows’ humor is more alarming than it is funny, & I keep getting these visions of him veering off The Slide or something.
I think that’s about it for tonight, ma.
Oh! I spoke to my therapist, & she has blessed these little letters as being, on the whole, pretty healthy. So expect to see some more.
I love so much, & miss the hell out of you. Not a day goes by that I don’t look at your number in my phone & wish there would be someone to pick up on the other end of that line.
Love you, love you, love you,