Grief

Grief looks different for everyone, and I didn't truly understand that until going through it after losing my daddy. My sister went back to Chattanooga and back to work right after my dad's memorial service.  My mom has fallen weak to her alcoholism again. I took the week off of work to stay busy working through paperwork, finances, and to sort through my thoughts and feelings.  I have hit the anger stage of grief. It is ugly.

I'm mad at my dad for not taking it easy that day. He went to the grocery with my Nana, carried in her groceries, ran countless errands, came home and walked the dog. It was too much for his heart; you could never tell my dad not to give anything his all.  I'm mad at him for not leaving anything other than the information for his storage units.  I'm mad at him for not taking better care of himself. I'm mad that he thought his job was done since we were both out of college with jobs; the job doesn't stop there.  I'm mad at my dad's doctor. He called him 3 weeks ago to report chest pains, and he took too long to refer him to a cardiologist.  He died. In trying to get his death certificate and paperwork worked out, his doctor refused to sign anything because he had not physically seen my dad since November.  Not only that, he didn't have the decency to call and tell us that... we had to keep calling and getting the messages from his nurse who refused to take my number so he could call me back. She also told me she couldn't release any information to anyone other than the patient. Funny, right? I politely told her I would be doing anything I needed to to let his doctor know that he was responsible for my dad's death. Suddenly, she helped with any and everything I needed. I'm mad at my mom for not trying to be stronger, for not trying to keep the alcohol from consuming her.  I'm mad at my sister for blowing off my mom and leaving me to clean up the hurt feelings along with everything else.  I'm mad that my children won't ever get to meet my dad.  I never told him we were trying to get pregnant because I wanted it to be a surprise. Now, it doesn't matter. My children will never get to know him or spend any time with him. They will never know the man that would have been Gramps.  I'm angry at myself for not calling him Wednesday morning. Something told me to and I didn't. I got wrapped up in work and forgot.  I'm angry that life continues to go on as usual, as if nothing ever happened. That has been the hardest part yet.  I'm sure it will be worse when I return to work Tuesday, as I will get the same calls from the same disgruntled employees as usual. Life goes on.