Cotton Brain

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.

Cotton Brain.


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.

Cotton Brain.


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.

Cotton Brain.


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.

Bless her.


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.

Cotton Brain.


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.

Cotton Brain.

Sigh.