Grief
As I write this my beloved Auntie Paula is dying of lung cancer. Stupid, freaking, destructive cancer. I hate it. I hate that I'm not with her more. It's not my place to be with her. My uncle is there. My cousins, her daughters, are there. And her grand-daughters are there. My Grammy Lou Who (I only call her that here on the blog, I don't know why.) is there with my partner in crime, my Auntie Sharon. My Auntie Paula doesn't need me there. Yet, I feel as if I should be there. I feel like I'm moving through molasses. Every breath is too thick and it hurts. My brain feels fuzzy and hazy, like I'm drunk and stoned. Only I'm stone cold sober. Moving just feels... awkward. I can't…