and the dad I had was murdered in cold blood
and the dad I had was gone
and I just found out.
A hole would be ripped through my soul.
No direction. No up or down, inside or out, diagonal, top or bottom would exist.
Not even floating. There’d be no center of gravity. I’d be dispersing painfully, awkwardly, spaghettified like competing black holes, some within and some outside, tearing me apart at different rates of speed…
yet I still stay together in this contorted state of being.
Recovery? What recovery? I’d plod along after the initial shock, lucky to remember to brush my teeth. Go between bursting into tears randomly and periods of cold, unfeeling, who cares, what’s the point of eating this stupid food in front of it. All taste is gone anyway.
I’d be in that state for some time. I’d probably push away people who try to get *too close*. I’d need space. Room.
Yet, I’d want _some_ contact with people. Far away people who WOULDN’T be able to drive over and bring me to a bar or diner to “cheer me up”. I don’t want to be cheered up. I can’t be cheered up. What I am right now is what I am right now.
That’s how I’d be, after the initial unthinkable shock. Vacillating and not caring at the same time.
Managing. Coping. Oddly ok with that state while wishing I could throw it off me like a turtleneck sweater that’s too tight and I can’t take off but I’m forced to wear anyway. But, not that at all either. That’s me and how I’d be.
My grandmother died not by murder but still sudden and surprising and unexpectedly. Not the same at all I’m sure; how can one compare the incomparable? Yet, I had a good friend who tried to be helpful. All was well until she started telling me her theories about death and life and I didn’t want to hear any of it. I got so mad, I turned a corner while we were walking, away from her, said something along the lines of fuck off and vowed never to forgive her.
I did, but it was years later. Even then, even now, still makes me angry thinking about it. Rationally, I know she was trying to be helpful. But with each thing she said, I was in my head, “WRONG, WRONG WRONG-WRONG-WRONG!” and I don’t usually get angry and push people away. But I did. I never asked for an apology. Don’t want one. Doesn’t matter. But that’s where I get the “don’t try to cheer me up” from. I don’t know anybody who was successful at that who tried. Still, I reached out anyway. Maybe they were, I dunno. Took about 12 months for me and by 12 months, I mean 12 months of getting over “initial shock”.
I had to go through every holiday at least once. It was fresh every time.