After reading so many entries by the people on this site of their traumatic losses, I know I have found a community of people who understand and are in the thick of grief, which is both helpful and a bit overwhelming that there is so much suffering.

The quick story is my twin brother was a life-long alcoholic and died Nov. 18, 2010. He had been out of his latest rehab facility for only two months. My Mom had open heart surgery Dec. 30 -- developed complications and died Feb. 13, 2011. And a week later my 15 year old terrier poodle mix dog, had to be put to sleep because of kidney failure. My condo flooded, my Subaru blew two head gasgets and I stood, and still stand in the middle of the wreckage that is my life and am afraid to ask the universe "ok, what next."

And yet I go on. I find the day to day existance is persistant and seems pernicious, lulling me back into a routine that seems false and flat. The everyday worries seem petty and I find myself resentful that my work colleagues are still concerned about the same things they were before my losses. They haven't changed, their world is consistent but mine feels like it's on shifting sand and every move I make during the day alters my reality just that much more. 

The only thing solid in my life is my grief and I find myself identifying more with that than with any thing else. I want to tell random strangers, delivery people, grocery clerks, bank tellers, the plumber, "Hey, you have know idea what I've been through in the last couple months."

 I am a teacher and my students feel that their problems, issues, reasons, excuses should be the center of my attention and I can't give them the time or consideration they feel I should. They know of my losses, I had to miss two weeks of school this semester and over a week last semester, and I spent that last six months (really more) with my phone ON in class dreading but prepared to drop everything to get to my brother, to get to my mom, to talk to the vet, to conference with my sisters about what was happening, what to do, the whens, whats, hows, and "Oh my Gods" that became my daily life. 

And now, my phone is off, there are no more calls or the fear of calls about my brother, about my mother, about my dog, about my condo, about my car. There is a deafening nothing. I am amazed and dumb-struck by how much time, energy, emotional real-estate all of that took up in my life. And I have to wonder if the storm is over (for now) or if I am just standing in the eye.

And yet I go on, slogging through the menial, acting interested, getting things done, waiting, listening to the silence.