My Emotions and Thoughts.

I'm going to begin each entry with a song quote, and try and include a picture also, I decided.

"Through You the blind will see, through You the mute will sing, through You the dead will rise, through You our hearts will praise, through You the darkness flees, through You my heart screams I am free"

First, do you think anyone has ever copied "Scrubs" and labeled every one of their blog entries "My _____"?  Okay yeah, clearly someone has.  I guess I won't then.  Or I might.

Well we're back for round two of stabbing yourself in the heart.  I'm hoping though that writing all this STUFF (I would say "garbage", but my mom hates using that word that way)(and she also hates me using the word "hate" all the time, so I'll say she strongly dislikes it...what was I talking about? oh yeah-) hopefully writing about all this will help me work this all through, help my family members know that someone else is feeling the same way as they might be, and also help anyone know what I'VE been feeling and thinking, since I haven't been terribly talkative about it all thus far.  So here we go.

I'm back in the midst of school, with a Structures (Physics of connections and materials and load-bearing) quiz on Monday and a Building Science (construction techniques meets technology) quiz on Tuesday, and yet I have a project due on Monday whose requirements couldn't be more difficult to grasp if they tried.  I won't bother attempting to explain.

The easy thing about being back at school is I have plenty of distractions begging me to focus on them.  My time is short, and I spend most of the rest of it pretty wisely, either with Tiffany or doing something productive.  I'm also removed enough from South Bend and everyone there that its easy to ignore or even deny the experiences I just had.  So I worry I'm not going to process it well enough or soon enough or just plain shed as many tears as I should be or need to.  I think some visits to her freshly dug grave at home will help that.  Wow.  Say it with me.  Her grave.  That's hard.  Amazing, really.

The thing is, half of December and half of January just flew by in a whirlwind of traveling back and forth between Chicago and South Bend (okay Niles, or even Goshen) and it turned into one long day.  I can't imagine how it was for my dad- he probably stayed up most or all of the night most days for about two weeks.  It just doesn't make it feel too real.  Its like waking up on New Year's Day from a long night, and staring at all the New Year's Day signs and logos on tv all day- you see it, you know, but it doesn't really register.  It takes weeks, even months, of writing the date every day on paperwork, homework, whatever, before you can start writing "08" without thinking twice or even writing over the 7 with a big black 8.  That's how it feels.

I think this is going to end up being really long so I may 

need to split it into two parts.  I'll split your mom into two parts.  That's what she said.  Thanks Michael Scott...sorry I got off track.

Before I sign off this post, here's a picture of the rose from my grandma's burial bouquet, sitting in the fresh snow that she didn't get to see.  One flower for each of the 19 grandchildren.  Which annoyingly I didn't get to drop down into her grave on top of the casket like in the movies because it was too cold for us to have the graveside ceremony outside.  So we had a grave-nearby-in-a-heated-building instead.