My father-in-law died two days ago and it feels like an eternity. I’ve not even been the one involved in the minutiae the way my poor husband has. He’s the straight man to his sister and stepmother’s excesses. I’m not kidding when I say he had to put a damper on a parade through town.
Amid all this controlled chaos, I’m finding myself selfishly freaking out about what my father-in-law’s death will mean to my family. My husband has been working for his dad for the past 8 years as has several other close family members. I’m worries because my father-in-law first got cancer at 48, only four years older than my husband is now. This same cancer killed my father-in-law’s dad, my husband’s grandfather. I have a son. I try not to jump the gun and get anxious about things I have no control over, but this one keeps popping into my head.
I wonder about thanksgiving, which was the holiday we always spent with my FIL and his wife in Florida. I had been thinking that now that my son was college bound, my husband and I might be going to Florida for work reasons more often than in the past.
I feel guilty for being self-absorbed as my sister-in-law and my step-mom-in-law mourn. I want to stick my head in the sand when I think about the slew of memorial services I will have to attend, possibly in two other states as well. I hate funeral shit and want my family to just get me dumped somewhere so they can get on with life. I recognize that all these services and ceremony can help many people grieve, but I loathe them. I’m a coward. I just want to lick my wounds in private and not have to hear a million condolences.
I’m not sure why I wanted to purge my horrible (not so) secret feelings. Maybe so they don’t leak out inappropriately around my in-laws.
For now, I have to go buy a dress. I never have liked black so my wardrobe is mostly cheerful colors.
No wonder all I want to do is hide under my covers or go for a long, punishing run.