I have a funeral dress.

No wait.  First:  I've been all but dark over here.  Not dark like grim.  But dark like silent.  I've been all but silent over here.

I stop to check in.  To let people know I'm still breathing.  I read news feeds and blog feeds and status feeds.  I text my friends once in awhile.  Pick up the phone if absolutely vital.  But I've been quiet.

Sometimes things happen around me that I think aren't really appropriate to write about.  As Jacob gets older I feel that his life is like that.  His life is happening around me, near me, with me but not necessarily to me.  His life is his life and mine is mine and they wrap themselves tight around one another but they are separate things. 
That happened this year.  This year that he was four.  This year that ends in two days when he turns five.  FIVE.  5ive.  That separation happened this year.  I like it.  I hate it.  I love that we are strong enough to go through it gently and effectively and togetherly.

Sometimes things happen around me that I think aren't mine to write about.  Things like Dave's dad getting sick.  It was happening, but I didn't feel like I owned a part of it.  He's been a huge part of my life for nearly twenty years, but he isn't my dad.  He's Dave's dad.  Jake's grandad.  So when he got sick, I felt on the outside of it all.  I didn't know I'd feel like that.  I didn't expect it.

Several of my friends lost their fathers over the past two years.  Lots.  So many that it really shook me up.  Made me realize that we are grown ups who go through grown up things.  Things like losing parents.  Not just kids who were too young to have grown up things happen to us and when they did it was labled a "shame" because we were "so young".  I prepared myself to lose my own dad.  Made peace with a few things in our relationship.  Within myself.  With him. 
Let go. 
Just.
Let. 
Go. 
Because life is too short.

I prepared myself to lose my dad.  My healthy, young, active dad.  Who is probably not going to die any time soon.  Who hasn't even turned 60 yet. 
When I was all done with that I rested.  Waited.

And nothing happened.

And I stopped preparing.  Stopped thinking about it.

And while all this was going on, Dave's dad- who hasn't really ever been the pinnacle of health- got sick.  Sometime after Christmas I guess.  Maybe a little before.  Thanksgiving?  I don't remember.  But it wasn't terrible until it got bad a month or so ago.  And he didn't get better.  And he got pneumonia.  And he didn't get better.  And he got admitted to the hospital.  And he got a chest scan.  And he got diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer.

That?  That I was not prepared for.

Not his sickness.  I was prepared for that.  I'm pretty sure we all were.  It was really just a matter of time.  I wasn't prepared for losing my father-in-law.  I forgot to do that.  To prepare for that.

I am really really good at helping people.  At supporting people.  At doing something to make things better or make people more comfortable.  At finding the right words.  The right gesture.  The right thing.
I've made a career of it. 
For a decade I've gotten paid to help people.  To support people.  To do something to make things better or make people more comfortable. 

I was no good at watching Dave watch his dad get sick.  I was no good at watching Jake watch his grandpa get sick. 
I acted good. 
Sort of. 
Not really. 
I tried. 
Inside I felt like a failure. 
Sometimes outside I acted like a failure.
Usually while I was alone. 
One time at a restaurant.
Probably in the car a couple times.
Support: fail.

I was good at watching Dave's dad be sick.  Good at sitting with him.  Good at keeping the spit and vinegar in our relationship.  Good at listening.  Good at finding the right words.  The right gesture.  The right thing.
But I was no good at watching Dave watch his dad get sick.  At watching Jake watch his grandpa get sick.

I was angry.  Angry that he got sick, that he didn't take better care of himself.  Angry that he was putting his son through that.  Angry that he was putting my son through that.
And sad.  Sad that the rest of his life- whether it was a year or ten or a week- would be spent dying.  Sad for him.  Sad for the family.  Sad for myself.
Anger and sadness go hand in hand for me.  When I'm mad, I'm sad I'm mad.  When I'm sad, I'm mad I'm sad.
Feeling helpless made it worse.
Sad, mad, bad.

And then he got chemo.  And he seemed to get a little better.  And last Friday was his birthday.  And we had a big party.  And every one came.  We had a great time.  Party party party into the next day.  And he seemed to get a little better. 
And Saturday happened and everything was normal.  And Sunday was Sunday and we didn't go over there for dinner like we have been because he went to Dave's baseball game that afternoon and everything was normal and Monday was Monday and everything was normal until it wasn't anymore and he was gone.

I have a funeral dress. I thought it would be prudent to buy something appropriate for all these funerals I keep getting invited to and there is nothing worse than having to decide what to wear to a funeral. It's black, with white polka dots. Short sleeved, button down, full skirted, past the knee, sash waisted, and collared. A size too big. Sometimes two. Bought large so the spaces between the buttons don't gap and show my tits or my belly. Sensible and neat, stylish but not a bit sexy. It goes well with my black high heeled, round toed, silver buckled, all seasons Mary Jane shoes. Everyone likes it. Getting complimented at a funeral is strange, but something I'm used to these days. These days since I bought the funeral dress. It won't go out of style. I'll wear it until it falls apart. It always fits- thanks to that sashed waist- it always will. Old reliable.