One Year Later

Last March, my mother passed away. Last July, my father followed. The feeling I had at the second passing is so overwhelming, that I still cannot describe it. Mainly, this is because I am not even sure if there is only one feeling, or if you rotate feelings in some attempt to process parts of a whole much too big for one person to handle. I’ll tell you this much; my scalp tingled and I could not stop smirking. If there is a name for that feeling, please let me know.
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Sometimes I describe myself as a spiritual person. I believe in some sort of higher power. I believe that energy cannot be created or destroyed; only converted. Human are beings that run on electrical impulses, the very thing which runs the universe. So, it only makes sense that we are a piece of the universe that is merely waiting to rejoin the great beyond. The great unknown is only in what form do we reconnect and what do we take with us when we go back to our electrical soup. (And they say you can’t have both spirit and science.)
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I was told by someone that due to the uniqueness of my situation; losing both parents, that I would not be right in the head for three years. In psychology, they say that they you are as strong as your support group. I am not married, and my siblings live out of state. My brother and sister are both married, and my sister has her children and their families just a few miles from her. I’m not sure what any of that really means except that even the people that went through the exact same thing as I did not experience it in the exact same way. I knew this when my sister asked how I was doing after my father’s death, and her response to my answer was, “You need to get married.” Can’t really talk with them.
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I can tell you that it does get easier to cope with. (I don’t like the word “better.”) If you listen to yourself, you know when to go out and when to stay in. You have your trigger words, and you wonder if they will come up in mixed company, and you wonder if you will cope, or at least have time to remove yourself from the room.
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Sometimes I describe myself as someone without a spiritual side. These days, I have little use for faith. (Still don’t.) About one year ago, just after regaining my footing from my mother’s passing, my father soon followed. I had not spoken with my father for thirteen years at that time, but the government still held me responsible for four digit bill with which the mortuary was threatening us. At one point, I quietly asked my mother, “Mom, would it be so much to ask for us to break even on this one”? Two weeks later, the day I was going to write a check to mail to my brother my half of the bill, he received a check from my father’s “estate.” At that time, no one would give us any answers, and as much as we could tell, he had nothing but a rental to his name at the end. I was tempted to trace the check to its source so I could get some answers, but I was ragged, and I had broken even.