This week has been a complete whirlwind.
Monday was Pop's memorial. I spent so much time planning and getting everything ready and was completely thrilled with how everything came out. It was lovely. On Tuesday, I ran about doing stuff all morning and made the almost 3 hour drive to my home town for a second service that my Aunt had organized for ALL of the family that had gone before. Eight total loved ones. There was a ton of family there, a potluck and a nice service. The kids were fabulous, staying overnight was good, swimming was a nice break and aside from the dull drums of eating too many big meals and not moving the body enough, it was an overall success. Following the services, we drove back home.
Though it was a short visit and unfortunate circumstances, my brother and I had some good time together. His wife and I had a few decent conversations. Their daughter and my kids enjoyed lots of cousin time. My mom had a good taste of having both of her kids and all the grandkids bubbling around in close proximity. It was good. Really good. There's never enough time with family.
Thursday, my brother and his family left at about 8 in the morning. By that time, Middle was already off to practice. And shortly after they walked out the door, I was suddenly overcome with the deepest, most profound and overwhelming sadness that I have felt since Pop died. After all the planning and build up and preparing, suddenly, just like that . . . it was just me, three kids and a pile of laundry. I was SO not prepared for that. I was SO not prepared to feel the flood of hot tears and was not prepared to succumb to the wash of emotions and the emptiness that is echoing in my body.
Today and yesterday, I have felt positively numb (and it has nothing to do with the two hours of dental work this morning!) I'm wandering about in a trance-like state doing a little picking up and a little messing up, fiddling with projects and making lists . . .
How amazing it is . . . when it's all over and all is said and done, how much of a void still remains and how much of a gaping hole is left open in your heart . . . .