The dirty little secret about death that no one ever seems to talk about is that the funeral is the easy part. The hardest part is learning to live without the person you loved so much. And by then everyone else has gone on with their busy lives and either don’t care or want to hear about it or maybe just don’t want to take the time and effort to pick up the phone for ten minutes a couple of times a month and just ask, “How are you doing? Would you like to have lunch, or maybe go to a matinee, or just talk awhile?” With a very few exceptions, everyone–family, friends–I thought I could count on are just…gone. And when I do try to reach out, it’s very awkward, as though they don’t really want to talk anyway.
It’s just unbearable, the loneliness. I would like to die, I really would, and be with mom and dad again. I don’t feel as though I have much here left to live for. George would remarry. I don’t have any children who would miss (nor will I ever). Apparently none of my extended family would miss me too much. My biggest stumbling block is that I don’t know who I would leave my family mementos too, because I can’t think of any of my cousins who would cherish my dad’s things the way I do. And since barely any of them bothered to show up for my mom’s funeral or even send a card, I know no one would treasure her pictures and writings as I do. And I don’t have any life insurance, so I don’t know how George could afford to bury me.
Anyway, I made an emergency appointment with my therapist for tomorrow. She’s paid to care, after all, so maybe that will help. It would be nice to not cry myself to sleep every night.