Still here

Because of Dad's news, I have postponed returning to NOLA until the 18th. I ignored the voice telling me to come home when P spent the better part of two months in hospital, thinking it was my own depression talking and thus telling myself to buck up.

Not that I think my dad's going anywhere. Part of the decision was practical -- the KC VA had a surgical consultation appointment today (my original departure date) or Feb. 5th. Dad was going to do the second choice, but then his desire to get moving as quickly as possible won out. The other part of the decision was to be here for a little more emotional support for them, especially Mom. I mean, jeezum, the woman's been through so much the last four months -- P's two months in hospital, my blood clot, my flu hospitalization, P's death (the last two on exactly the same day, almost to the hour), always keeping an eye on Dad's diabetes and congestive heart failure and lupus, and now Dad's cancer. I've had people tell me I'm strong, and if there's any truth to it, then I inherited it from my mother.

Oh, and Housing is delivering P's stuff tomorrow. Last week when Dad was getting his news, Mom and I went to P's apartment to get his bed and wheelchair to take to the MDA loaner closet, and I hid in Naomi's apartment (for those who don't know, Nay is one of my best friends who lives next door to P). I wanted to spend time with her, no doubt, and I truly would've been in the way of Mom taking the stuff to the van . . . but the truth of the matter is, I couldn't face going in there. I couldn't even look at the freaking door. Chicken, right? I should be past denial and avoidance by now, right?

::sigh:: I really do think about other things during the day -- a good majority of the day, in fact. Wouldn't know by reading my journal.

Assuming you're even still reading this depressing stuff.