I don't know anything anymore..

I came home, sure that I could do this. I could fly 1400 miles away and be alright.

Today I stared at a few dozen familiar faces...all looking at me like a basket case. Nervous to give me hugs. I spoke a little and found my chest getting heavy, my stomach churning - and I excused myself.

My dog doesn't sit with me anymore. I've been gone so long he doesn't snuggle with me on the couch. He snuggles Ari instead.
I don't have the comfort of many - as I do the sympathy. Theres a difference, ya know..

I can tell my mind is drifting into murky places and I'm glad I'll be seeing my therapist tomorrow. But then again, I don't know quite what she'll do for me.

I'm scared - terrified - to go to work. I'm afraid I'll lose it altogether. I'm afraid I wont smile. I'm afraid my heart will stop as it has these past few days..

My eyes feel as though they have been bent inside out. I can't cry...

It Hurts...

I think you can all imagine the feelings going through my head.
I've been to many funerals in my life, lost a lot of loved ones, but I've never had someone viciously taken from me.

It's hard not to imagine the scene, as much as I don't want to. Every time I close my eyes I have visions of my father and a 12 gauge staring at him in.

The hardest part is knowing he died that way. He died at one of the happiest times in his life. He died with two giant gaping holes in his stomach and no one to comfort him at the hospital.

It's sickening. It makes my chest hurt. I can't cry anymore, I can't breathe, and I can't sit still..

And the woooorst part?

I haven't even seen his body yet. I have an eerie feeling about the moment I step into Sturino's funeral home. It's going to be the hardest thing in my life. And I just hope I take enough perscription meds not to fall over completely... but I'm pretty sure I will.

Aside from the normal numbness, I have to admit - I'm furious. Oddly enough it's not with the others involved. It's the news.

The media has failed me. It has exploited my Dad's murder, printed false information, printed unnecessary information, and turned it into just an article.

The one thing I learned from all of this public circus is that.. life goes on. Just like we watch the news every day and hear another murder... this ones no different. It's what we are. It's the animalistic instinct inside of us to turn the page and write off a tragedy.. And now that it's finally hit home? No words..

It's hard reading the hard facts from a paper when no one in my family wants to tell me themselves. I didn't know the murderer used a shot gun. I didn't know he wasn't in custody right away. And I NEVER knew my father suffered enough to be transported to a hospital.

With all the details put in place, and a foul taste in my mouth, it still wasn't enough to read an article describing the scene at the hotel..

"there was blood splattered all over the grass"

And that is when I lost it.

I am petrified. Petrified of staring at my father's lifeless body. I have no idea if my body can withstand that. In fact, I'm pretty sure it can't. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna fall over, go limp, throw up, scream... and cry? Do I have any tears left?

I just don't know what I'm gonna do...

Grandma B

Once in a blue moon I'll drift off to sleep and dream about her. I have to say, I wish I could dream about her more often...
The dream fell along the normal 'nightmare' path.. someone trying to kill me. I ended up catching them and turning them into the police and after a long brawl I went home. I couldn't sleep so at 1am I called my grandma and stayed with her. And when I woke up, I realize thats what I've truly been missing... just some quality time with the person who loved me most. I miss being able to call her at all hours and just vent and having her comforting voice on the other end.

It's been two years..
At this time in '06 she was in "Select" - a horrible wing of St. Luke's Hospital in Milwaukee. It's where most of the damage was done. I'd visit her and on some days she was hysterical.. she thought she was in prison and asked me to take her home. She would yell at scream and not have any clue what was going on. Those were some of the most emotional months for me.. I used to leave the hospital bawling..

I've struggled with analyzing how her death has really affected me..and I haven't quite gotten an answer. I know it's part of how messy the last few years of my life have been.. I can't say that I've made any positive movement since she passed away.. I've just been very reactionary. I wonder what that means?

I've promised myself to make good use out of this move. I'm dedicating my time here to *finding myself*. I've been through a lot of therapy and medications but it's about time I get a significant grasp on things. If not for me.. for Grandma B.