I've been gone because my grandpa died. And I've been gone because my computer died. I can't say which one has had the bigger impact on my time away from this space.
I've been home from LaPorte and the funeral and my old home for a full week, but it feels like mere moments. Or maybe like years. It doesn't feel like a week.
I am going to say some things now.
I feel sort of fractured, like my very identity is fogged up because the man who raised me up isn't here on Earth to treat me like a little girl. Or maybe I feel like he is fractured. Like a little bit of his spirit is everywhere now, in me and my mom and my cousins and my uncles and my grandma and we will all carry around the vague feeling of his shadow on our thoughts and actions. I think our little family fits together like pieces of an odd and interesting puzzle, and without Papa, I don't know what picture we make. Or maybe we will still make the same picture, but some of the pieces will glow bright and some of the pieces will begin to look like shadows and maybe I don't know and we aren't a puzzle at all.
Not only did my mom and I live with my grandparents and Uncles (who were 14 and 18 when I was born) from the time I was a baby until I was eight, but after we moved out my Papa and my grandma took me on vacations all over. Just the three of us. The three of us in a motorhome. In the first ten years of my life, we all spent hours that would fill up entire years doing nothing but hanging out without television or cell phones or computers. Just me and my family and Yahtzee and the piano. I think I want to start playing Yahtzee again. And playing the piano again.
I live two and a half hours away from my grandparents. From my grandma, now. And Uncles. And cousins. It's just far enough that I didn't drive it as much as I should have, when I had the chance. I am going to start driving it more.
That's all I am going to say tonight.
I had to BEG my workaholic husband to let me use his work computer to type this. Like, pry it out of his hands as he was editing his website. If anyone out there wants to buy me a computer, I won't object. And I will blog every single day. (In between games of Yahtzee, of course.)
I found these pictures when I was getting photo boards ready for the funeral. They're of a random night in the late 1980s when I was probably five. They feel so real and alive to me. This is what it felt like to be the little girl. The little girl in the white house who lived with a lot of grown-ups. Wonderful grown-ups.
I promise my next post won't be sappy, but I can't promise it will be posted anytime soon.
(PS. This is how out of it I am: I tried to find my blog reader on Luke's computer but had to google it because it obviously isn't saved as a favorite. I couldn't even remember what it was called. I typed "blog" into google, and then thought for a few seconds and then typed, "blogroll". This is a true story. It's "bloglines" Erin. Bloglines. Duh. I only use it EVERYDAY under normal circumstances. I miss reading your blogs. Please forgive me. )