I am coming off the most amazing week at Burning Man to a real shocker and some horrible news - my grandfather has died. Papa was an amazing, wonderful man who I loved very dearly. Before I left, my mother hinted at her true worries. Not only did I miss saying goodbye to him (although no one but my grandma was with him at the end), but I missed the funeral. My parents, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, everyone was down in Florida. They all toasted a shot of O'Doull's which he used to drink - he thought it was real beer which we didn't give him because he'd get drunk too quickly.
One of the best things about him was his love for my grandmother. It would've been 62 years of lovely marriage - and they were so in love all those years. I can only hope that I could have the chance to be in love like that for so many wonderful years..
Decompression will be especially hard this year. I've done most of my laundry (piles of sparkles and tutus and fake fur dot my apartment right now, both clean and still dusty), have a few small piles of things to go through. I have many memories to deal with, some photos to process. Like all years at Burning Man, I find myself questioning the future of my life. Is this is? Is this what I want? Where am I going? Shall I hold his hand and close my eyes and jump straight in? (I'm going with yes on this one.)
I don't know anything. Tomorrow I'm going to head out for a long run to clear my head - maybe I'll go twenty miles, maybe fifty. I don't know. And then I want to cry out all the pain. On September 11th, overwhelmed, unable to contact Jessica, I ran. I ran. I run to deal with the pain sometimes. Right now all I want to do is curl up in a ball with my furball and cry into her fur. And because she's the only one around, and that seems like the best option right now, that's what I'm off to do.
I love you, Papa.