What does one do with themselves

So it hasn't been even a week since my father died. Everyone else gets on with their lives and I sit here checking Google and other people's blogs about how they felt about my dad. I feel almost embarrassed writing since my father was such an amazing writer and I feel daft and silly trying to put into words how I feel. One should never have a desire to do the same craft as a parent who did it so amazingly well.

I've talked to my mother almost every day. We talk about how they want to name a peak after him and have a memorial service. I hope that they wait until I can come home before the have one, since now my father is gone and it is for the living to mourn and grieve the loss. I would like to be there for part of it, since I can't be there now.

My father was writing an autobiography before he died. That should be good reading I'm sure. Maybe he knew his time was near and that was why he was writing so furiously, one will never know if they know their time is near, because by the time they themselves figure it out, they are usually dead.

I need to not be resentful or hurt that my brother or sisters don't answer the phone or have talked to me since Daddy died, I have to admit I haven't asked to talk to them when on the phone with mother and she hasn't offered to hand the phone over to them to talk to me. People grieve in their own way and losing a parent isn't like the Hollywood movies where everyone forgets their differences and comes together in hugs and kisses.

Really do I want to talk to them? I suppose not or else I would be the bigger person and make an effort to reach out. I think that I don't have the energy to fight and apologize, forgive and forget and then talk. They probably don't either, though they do have each other to talk to in Seattle and I am left in the cold so to speak.

So what happens now? Paul and I will talk sporadically. Paul will talk to Becky, Becky will talk to Mother, Penny will talk to Mother and I will talk to Mother. A fractured family with nothing left inside them to give to each other. A family without a centre, without a foundation to stay connected.

I miss what never really was and now is apparent will never be.