Not A Super Sunday.

I'm sat on the couch at my parents' mom's house, watching the football game on my own.  She's already in bed, and I feel so lost and sad without my dad by my side.  He was supposed to be here, dammit.  That was his goal.  To be home with Dave & I & Mason and my mom, watching the Superbowl together over pizza & cocktails.  How can he not be here?????

We spent the day going over cards & flowers & offerings from the memorial service, writing thank you cards, and paying bills.  I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally.  There's just so much to do and only so many arguments you can have in one day.

I keep clashing with my mother and brother over funeral etiquette.  I think you should write "With thanks, the family of *** *****" on each of the thank you cards.  But I was voted down, as that would just take too long.  (Go ahead and roll your eyes here.  I already have.  Repeatedly.)

I also believe that everyone who came to the funeral home & signed the sympathy book should receive a thank you note & a prayer card.  Not everyone can afford to give something; and with gas prices back up to $3.59/gallon and 8" of snow topped with freezing rain falling during the service, I'm just happy that people actually came out to honor my dad.  And I think those people should be thanked, just for showing up.  But again, I'm in the minority.

I also think that people who mailed sympathy cards should be sent a thank you.  Even if, heaven forbid, those cards didn't include any kind of offering.  FFS, I appreciate the gesture of sending a card & want to say thank you in return.  But one more time, my gratitude is completely overlooked.

I just hate that this is how things are going.  He's only been gone for 10 days; and already, we're bickering and clashing with each other.  I feel like that fragile little 8-year-old girl again, locked behind the safety of my bedroom door, with my eyes shut tightly and my hands pressed over my ears to drown out the noise surrounding me.

Alone in a house filled with voices.