Judgie McJudgington

So I've drafted two emails to my mother now, neither of which I could send. The first one sounded preachy and the second one sounded judgie. It's probably for the best because if I'm going to say anything, I should really do it in person. Sending my mom an "I'm Concerned with a Capital C" email is kinda cowardly. So of course I haven't phoned her either. Coward witha Capital C.

I found myself breaking down on the way home this afternoon. Sometimes it happens when I let myself think about Chuck when I'm not with Sweetman. Sweetman keeps me from breaking down because seeing me cry makes him cry, so I keep it together around him as much as possible. Part of me has this weird feeling of guilt for being so upset about his death still. Seeing his family and how they are carrying on; knowing that the last thing he would want would be for me to mope around because of him. And it's not as though I am, but I am struggling. Struggling with the conception of the fact that he's ashes now. In a jar or a box or an urn or something somewhere. And I know that's not the essence of him, just his mortal coil. But I still struggle with sense making...it is so senseless. A healthy 43 year old man dies from a pulmonary embolism that they think arose out of a dehydratory imbalance???? He survived 3 days in the rockies in a snowstorm, but this killed him? No. I can't grasp that, and so my mind tries to make sense of it some other way. Like he sacrificed himself so that someone else wouldn't have to die. But I can never know for sure, and so will I struggle with it forever? I hope not.