Okay, to see that looks a little dramatic...it's not meant to be.
I've started two different blogs to try and describe all the details of my grandfather's wake/rosary/funeral/burial. One was a very detailed (too detailed) account of everyone and everything and the second was an attempt at a short story to get it out. But here it is:
My grandfather's funeral was hard. Very hard. The hardest part was seeing them close the casket and lock it. The next hardest thing was hugging my dad goodbye when I left. Transference is a dangerous thing.
I've been depressed since that weekend. And now that I write that and I'm tearing up I know it's true. The truth hurts. A slump doesn't even come close. I don't know what it was about the time in Vegas that made it so hard. I wish I saw my family more, even my brothers who drive me absolutely batty with their lives and choices. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to live across the street from my family, I'm not insane...I just wish I could see them more often.
My weight has been creeping back up as my food choices have been crappy. I was sick before Vegas, and then got sick again AFTER Vegas. So the gym hasn't been an option, which is okay since I couldn't really drag myself out of bed anyway...sick/depressed...pick one. Whatever. The point to this silly blog is that it is the END of my depression, my dark hole. I will not allow myself to be lost in something that is out of my control. My grandfather is gone. The End. My dad is still alive. The End. I will see my family again. The End. I WILL take care of myself and move along. THE END.