I'm spent.

I do not have time to write this post but I'm not going to be able to function until I do. I need to get this out.

We just commemorated the 1st anniversary of my Dad's death. It was hard.

Two days later, my mother's best girl friend died unexpectedly. I cried for my mother and for her. My mom's friend was the sweetest lady. I talked with my Mom on the phone and we cried.

On Tuesday, we watched the season premiere of Scrubs. Did you see that one? The one where the 70-something year old guy dies? And he's scared? And so are those supporting him? They sit around and talk about it, about what it's like to die? And then they watch him and help him die? I sobbed for an hour after that, more than I did on the day we did the memorial service. I said, "This is supposed to get easier after the first year!" It surprised me. I didn't know I had that bubbling underneath. I spent the next day depleted.

My mother called today and she was sobbing hysterically. Mark answered and I could hear crying and I heard him say, "I can't understand you." Then his face dropped. He looked at me and said, "Baltasar died."

My dad's younger brother died today--he was having a routine procedure done and he had a heart attack on the table. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!!!!!!!! I fell on the floor and cried so hard, I was shaking and weak all over and trying not to vomit.

My uncle is the closest link I've had to my Dad since he died. He looks like him, his mannerisms are like his, his skills and talents are like those of my Dad. He and his wife spent hours by my Dad's bedside as he died, night after night, they would arrive and they just sat there and watched him and sat with him. He's the one from the family who's been looking out for my mom. He's the one who's been giving us grapevine and garden tips. He's the one who's been giving us my Dad's old tools. He's the one who gave us the winter garlic we have planted in our garden outside. He, too, is a carpenter, a gardener, a fisherman. All those skills. All that cultural knowledge. Gone! This can't be! I'm just getting to an age to have a home and yard and garden and learn from them and incorporate those beautiful skills. I can't believe this. How can they be gone?

My side of the family is CLOSE, kind of like the mafia (except not horrible). My Dad's brother wasn't ill! He's younger than my Dad (who was already young if you ask me). THIS CAN NOT BE HAPPENING!! Death SUCKS. This SUCKS.

The only one left from my Dad's side of the family is his sister. And she's out of the country and doesn't even know yet.

As my Dad lay dying and unresponsive, I remember thinking (while watching my Uncle Baltasar play with his grandchildren--he's an awesome grandfather), "It's not fair that he gets to enjoy his grandchildren while my Dad lays dying." But this ISN'T what I meant!!!!!!!

I'm SPENT.

I'm the youngest one in the family by far and everyone is so old! And it feels like they're all dying. And I'm feeling abandoned by them all even though I know that's not what they're really doing. One more and my Dad's side of the family is GONE. GONE! All the male figures from my side of the family growing up . . . one is left. An uncle. Both my grandfathers died, 2 of my uncles died (one I didn't even get to meet), my Dad. And now this. I'm SPENT.

I'm not feeling strong. I feel physically, emotionally, and spiritually weak. I HATE THIS. I HATE THIS. My faith has been so shaken by my Dad's death--things I haven't discussed on here. I'm an open person but even that's been too personal or I've not been prepared to share or not wanted to. I'm tired of platitudes. I'm tired of hearing they're in a better place. Really? How do we know that?! Please don't answer that--I can't take any preaching or judgment or lessons on faith today. I'm just venting. WHERE IS MY DAD?!?! What is he doing?? And why was he afraid to die?? Why? WHY!! HE was an amazingly KIND KIND KIND hearted man. He shouldn't have been afraid to die. I'm being PAINFULLY honest here. I. Am. Shaken. I am doubting. I am grieving. I am tired. I'm so tired. I've believed before. I used to teach people how to believe. I know that believing brings comfort. In some ways it would be easier to believe. But I'm just not feeling that strong. I just don't know any more. I can't believe I'm typing this for the world to see. I just am beyond caring who judges me at this point. If someone's first thought is to judge, then, well, that's just sad and I just don't care. Mourn with those who mourn, right? Well, I'm mourning. And I'm tired.

And our sweet son has waited for two years for a Star Wars birthday party. It was supposed to be tomorrow. But a snow storm is coming, so we moved it to today (which is already a feat in and of itself), excited to give him his long-awaited party (my Dad's wake was ON his birthday this past year). And then my Mom called and told us this and I'm feeling spent and all torn up. I'd normally sit and let this sink in. But I can't not have this party tonight. I can't. It's not fair to him. At one point while I cried this morning, the kids hugged me and our son brought me tissues and hugged me and asked, "Are you going to cry at my party tonight?" I smiled and told him, "Nope! We're going to have a GREAT party!" And I pushed back my tears and hugged him back, trying to pull it together for this, but feeling punched in the stomach and weak and shaky all over on the inside. I can't believe my uncle, my Dad's brother, is gone. I don't know if any of this makes sense. I've got to go.