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My brother called, said he'd gone to the local monument place, the one where we got my mom's stone 30 years ago, and picked out a stone. They still had records of mom's (you gotta love small town family businesses) and so the inscriptions will be in the same type and size which is nice. He was going to just get a plain one and then he saw one with a carving of a kitty on it so he chose that - my sister's ashes are mixed with her beloved kitty so it seemed appropriate.
Some people don't deal with things well - I don't deal with them at all. I have this freakish ability to tuck things away within myself where I don't even look at them and there they stay until something like the thought of my sister beneath a stone with a kitty on it makes them rear their ugly heads.
Since she died in June, I've not thought about it, not really. It's there in a very disciplined, rational form, that recognizes the event but does not think about it in anything other than matter-of-fact terms. This is how I deal with everything - or rather, don't deal - and though I know it's probably not particularly healthy, it's unfortunately the only way I have of doing it because I'm bi-polar and don't do emotions well.
Every now and then, like today, with something as real and mundane and poignant as the thought of a marble kitty on her grave, I'm able to hit upon it as if with a glancing blow, which allows me to face it briefly, cry for perhaps ten seconds (lightly), and then bottle it all back up.
Christ, this ought to be in the Mental Health forum.
But really, everyone grieves in their own way. As strange as my way is, that's what I'm doing right now which is why I'm posting here. In my convoluted way, I guess I'm saying I'm sad today and could sure use a hug.
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