Hello, insomnia.

It's 6:07 am and I can't sleep. I've got a dog in my lap, the heater blaring, and the knowledge that every other
person and animal in this house is asleep except me.

Damn it, this week is going to be the death of me. I don't want to have to deal with the fact that one year ago I lost Joan. I don't want to deal with her death at all.

I got into a conversation with the Husband a couple nights ago, but dealing with it. About growing past it, instead of being stuck in this perpetual grief cycle. He asked what I did with the pain, the grief. I told him the truth.

I imagine the pain being packed neatly in a cardboard box, being taped up and then shoved somewhere where I don't see it. But this box seems to be growing bigger and bigger and is taking up the whole room. The pain inside is so raw that even if all I do is peek inside, I end up huddled into a ball, sobbing.

He told me I needed to go ahead and open it. And once again, I told him the truth. I can't.

I can't bring myself to open it. That means dealing with the fact that it's been a year and I keep trying to call her. I will go out of my way just to avoid driving past her house. I refuse to go to restaurants that her and I ate at all the time, just because I don't want to go there without her. That it's not fair that Little Miss asks me when can she see Joan and the most I can give her is a picture.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. I hate this. I hate not being able to see her, to hear her. I hate the fact that I knew she wanted the surgery so I pushed for it. I managed to get everyone to see it my way, her way. And then she died after having it. Does that make it my fault?

I hate the fact that the last time I saw her, she was hooked up to ventilators and machines and how when I went over to grasp her hand, she opened her eyes but couldn't say anything because of the tubes in her throat.

I hate the fact that my aunts, her FUCKING SISTERS, had already gone through all of her belongings and were in the process of moving them out BEFORE she passed away. How they threw out all of her photo albums. How they quickly put my grandmother into a home after that. How selfish and controlling they are about every little fucking thing. How they admitted how they were glad that didn't have to deal with Joan and Granny anymore, that they were inconvenienced by them.

Fuck them. Fuck this. Fuck this whole entire year without you, Joan.

I just want you back.

Please, come home.