The last week has been a total blur.
I honestly can't tell you what I've done…or who I've talked to…or who I SHOULD have talked to…
My brain seems to have turned to cotton…which I guess would be the norm after suddenly and unexpectedly losing a parent.
Here's what I DO know…
I know that Dad passed away early Friday morning. I know that I had to fly back from Florida that day. I know that during my layover in St. Louis, I actually almost boarded the wrong connecting flight, which would have sent me to Chicago, rather than Kansas City.
Yeah. I was in the line, TO BOARD, when I fortuitously asked someone beside me, "This IS the flight to Kansas City, right?" Imagine my horror when they looked at me like I was an idiot, and said, "Uh…no. Chicago." EEEEEP. A mad dash to the CORRECT gate, and a sigh of relief to find that I hadn't missed my connection. Yet. But it was close.
I know that we had a ton of family and friends at Mom's house all weekend, while we reminisced about Dad, while planning the service. As far as who was actually there - or what we talked about - I have no memory.
I know that Dad's service was on Monday…and I know that the church seemed awfully crowded. And I remember talking to lots of people both before the service, as well as afterwards. I don't know if I talked to everyone I was SUPPOSED to have talked to…and if I missed you, I apologize.
I know that I had to go in to the dermatologist on Tuesday morning for a surgical procedure on my forehead, and I'm now left with a Frankenstein-ish wound that had me hyperventilating when I saw it…my son last night said that I should have had the surgeon shape it like a lightning bolt, and I'd have my own Harry Potter head.
That made me laugh - which I needed, for sure.
Cotton Brain with Harry Potter head. Hee hee.
My mom said that if they got all the cancer out (which they did), then my scar is beautiful.
I have been driving with no conscious memory of how I arrived somewhere. I'll get dressed with no conscious memory of how I chose my clothes. I'll eat, and five minutes later I'll eat again, because I have no recollection of eating before…which could lead to trouble for my waistline, if this continues.
My Dad was always using nicknames for us kids…over the years, I was called RoadRunner (because I was the slowest runner on the face of the earth), Miss Piggy (yeah, I was a bit chunky for a while), as well as Big Bird (after I broke my nose and had a beak). He would certainly jump on board with this new one, Cotton Brain.
I know that it will get better. I know that it's just a symptom of grief and mourning, and it, too, shall pass.
But if I see you - or talk to you - and I appear to be a bit "fuzzy" - now you know why.