Posted: 19 February, 2016 in Death, Family
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If there was ever a time when I felt less like writing, I can’t remember when it was. It has been a little over a week since I attended my father’s memorial service, and until yesterday morning I felt completely numb. Finally—thankfully—I started to feel the pain.

It was the pain of loss: loss of a father, loss of my last living relative of his generation. Wait…that’s not quite true; both of my mother’s sisters are living. Still, by any dictionary definition, I’m an orphan. And the only good thing about being an orphan is that whatever size of any product you buy, it’s “family-size.”

The pain of rejection: despite my reconciliation with my father, my step-mother still introduced me to strangers as “Henry’s oldest son,” and I could feel the contempt from her daughter, my step-sister. Is it too harsh of me to say that I am glad I won’t have any more contact with them?

It was—still is—the pain of the normal grieving process. I know it will come and go over the next several days, weeks, months: it’s natural. And while I know I’ll be able to ride it out, it’s one thing to know something intellectually; is it quite another thing to experience the emotional ups and downs.

At least I saw my therapist yesterday.

And so I offer today’s entry. It isn’t much, but if you follow my blog with any regularity, the least I owe you is an explanation of why I haven’t been posting much lately.

Thanks for stopping by.

Robyn Jane

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