|Vegas in July 2009 with my dad|
Two months later, I still haven't had the meltdown, but it's kind of being forced on me. I don't do grief because I hate crying in public and my life these days is such that I only get privacy in the bathroom, and frankly, I don't want to reminisce and have a proper crying jag while staring at (or sitting on) the porcelain god ... so it just gets buried a little more. Until I get another request from my brother to commemorate the anniversary and what wants to pour out is this .... which is way too much to fit on a slip of paper.
A year ago I couldn't even write about what I was feeling, until my cousin pissed me off, but it's still very hard for me to grieve without also getting angry. It's all so damn unfair!
But, in the ... healing
- Late night trips to Lighthouse Bookstore in Glendale (now closed) for new books and music.
- All of Frank Perretti's books (and Stephen R. Lawhead, and the start of this chase, Roger Elwood)
- The fact that my dad encouraged me to question my faith, get educated about the occult (not fear it, knowing is half the battle) and taught me that faith and reason could and should reside together.
- My father was the first man to give me the time and space to work things out for myself before articulating them.
- Being sent to bed when being a perfectionist threatened to get the better of me and everyone's patience with me.
- The Screwtape Letters
- Good friends and family that I still am too shy/upset/ashamed to contact and know that I should get over myself