We're waiting for Aunt Silverbelle to recover from a medical procedure so she can be at Grandpa's funeral.
We're waiting for Inkling to be able to fly in from Canada (Labor Day weekend is not the weekend to need to travel quickly).
We're waiting to gather the family from (what feels like) the four corners of the Earth.
We're waiting to lay Grandpa to rest.
Except that Grandpa didn't have to wait. He is resting. Peacefully. Perfectly. And I assume, with a slight bit of amusement at all the commotion about him. As my Grandma said about all the messages and kind words that have been sent to her in the past few days he would have been honored but embarrassed and wondered what all the fuss was about. Friday night will be his visitation and Saturday is the funeral.
I'm not crying. Not now anyway. But Sarah was right when she said grief is a strange thing. Listening to country music at work is a bit of a gamble right now. I was happily working on Monday when this came on the radio:
As you can imagine, I fell to pieces. That wasn't terribly unexpected.
But yesterday I was loading the dishwasher at work when the tears sprang up. I don't remember what brought them on. I don't remember what made them leave. I know they were short lived and private. Other tears have not been.
Waiting is hard. I keep thinking I just want to get this over with, but that's not really the case. What I want is the comfort of others who are grieving with me. My kids are so resilient that they often forget how much Mom is hurting and that she cannot handle much stress. Husband is working and I will not see him until Friday morning. I'm fighting a head cold with everything I have in me. I need to tackle the mounting list of things that have to be done before Friday morning, but either life gets in the way or I lose motivation and end up napping on the couch (sleep is a wonderful escape from sadness, but not a terribly constructive one).