Sleepless in Sterling

It is nearly 1:00 in the morning, and I cannot sleep. I’ve tried all the usual tricks. I think it might be karmic punishment for saying, less than 36 hours ago, “I used to really struggle with insomnia, but I’ve been much better lately.” So, so foolish.

I am exhausted, but apparently not the kind of exhausted that helps you fall asleep. I do know why, really, but I’m tired of thinking about it.

Paul’s dad died on Saturday. We knew it was coming, for a while now. But, as any of the bereaved since the dawn of time will tell you, no one is ever really ready.

When it was my turn, Paul continued his normal behavior, which is to say he acted like the Rock of Gibraltar – sheltering, timeless, and immovable – except that he amped it up some. It seems like this is what I should be doing now, but I feel very squishy. My desire is to be supportive, not just to Paul, but for everybody in the immediate family. I feel profoundly unqualified. No wise man ever built his house upon a sponge.

Someone said to me the morning of Mom’s funeral that sometimes you have to get up, dress up, and show up. It was exactly what I needed to boot me out of the pit that morning, and I’ll be thinking of it this week as well.

Now it is after 1:00 in the morning, and I’m going to go lie down again. I’m hoping that dumping my brain will help it stop gyrating. It needs some rest, along with the rest of me.

Goodnight. And … if you can, go hug your parents.

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