replacethexanax - Now What??

This can't be the reality.  Or is it?  It has to be.  Too much has gone on.  So many things have happened.  The cards - oh - the cards.  I think we've gotten a card from every single person in the county.  The smell of the funeral home is still fresh in my nose.  My eyes, they are still so very puffy.  Puffy.  Just like she was.  She was so puffy.  So Swollen.  I've never seen legs and feet so puffy and swollen before.  Well, not since my Grandma Katie.  The people and the food and the tears.  The "things not to say" at a funeral discussions.  The despair.  The despair.  Oh the wretched despair.

But is it despair?  I am still waiting to be stricken with it.  I am still waiting on that other shoe to fall.  I am still wandering around Bi-Lo, aimlessly, not knowing what the hell I am doing there, or why I am there to begin with.  The thoughts.  Damn you! Brain!  Make the thoughts stop.  Please!  I have continuous streams, rivers, oceans of thoughts, running through my brain.

But reality?  Really?  No way.  It can't be.  To the Dr.'s - no, you're all wrong.  I'm sorry, we respect and appreciate your constant care for her.  Your compassion, your 'tell it how it is' attitudes towards us are so appreciated.  But, surely, you've made a mistake.  She's Fine.  She's not going anywhere.  She's just got to get worse before she gets better.  Right?  I mean, that is what everyone keeps telling us.  Let's face it - my dear, dear Father said it best : "There are 40 miles of bad road ahead" ...Remember, Dr. Patel, when you said "2 steps forward, 1 step backwards"?  It is all part of it.  She is a very sick girl, however, she's got age on her side.  She is tough.  She is a fighter.  The biggest fighter this family has ever seen - according to Lil Chuckie.  She's tough.  She's not the weak, frail little drama queen we all had her pegged for.  She's stronger than all of us put together.  She's going to be fine.  It will be a long, rough recovery; but she will be fine.  She WILL pull through.

No.  She didn't pull through.  She is gone.  She is dead.

My sister is dead.  My sister, my best friend, my confidant, my life, is dead.

My sister died.  We stood around her bed, and literally, watched her die.  We watched the monitors go to zero.  We saw the dreaded flatline.  She was gone.  She died.  She wasn't supposed to die.  But she is dead.

Wait a minute!  Wait one damn minute!  Certainly this is a dream.  Surely, I will wake up and think..."wow, that was the worst, most messed up, crazy dream I've ever had"...It just has to be a dream.  I am dreaming.  She isn't going anywhere.  She will be just fine.  I'm sorry Dr.'s we respect you all, but clearly, you've all been greatly mistaken.

So puffy.  She was so swollen.  Her beautiful, dainty little hands, so swollen.  I thought for sure, at any given moment, her hand that looked so much like a balloon would burst.  How much more swollen can she get? 

The hole in my heart.  The ache in my heart.  The ache in my whole body, actually.  Every so often I am doubled over, because it feels like someone has just jab-punched me square in the gut.  Or, maybe it feels like someone has driven a knife straight through my belly button.  I can't be sure of the pain I feel.  But it is not pleasant.  And it is definitely stifling.

I write.  I just write.  I write and write and write, until I can't write anymore, so then I type.  I write until I feel as though my wrist may snap right off.  What the hell happened?

Yet, I still go back to the same question, no matter what....

And just what the hell am I supposed to do now???