Seven years
It seems hard to believe that it's been seven years since my father was killed.
(Yes, I know the right-side navbar on that page is giving an error. I'll deal with it some other day.)
Some years I'm okay, some years I'm not. This year there's been so much other turmoil going on that I don't know how much of my emotional state to attribute to what, but I suspect the anniversary has been a significant factor in my having had a couple of meltdowns and GCFs (General Coping Failures) in recent weeks, and intermittent bursts of sadness yesterday.
My plan for today is to sit at home by myself and minimize interaction with people. I may take the day off from day job, or I may try to get some work done from home. (Thanks to my manager for special dispensation for working from home.) I may try to get some sleep—I've been having a hard time keeping my eyes open fairly often in the past couple weeks. I may read some comfort reading (Crusie, maybe) or watch something comfortable (Gilmore Girls, or maybe Groundhog Day—been meaning to rewatch that for months, and I seem to recall it being both funny and consolatory, though I could be wrong).
I will probably try to minimize my online interaction as well. Likely no Facebook or Twitter or G+, will likely not read email except important-looking magazine-related stuff (and day-job stuff if I do end up working), will probably not answer phone. Would prefer not to receive text messages unless something's urgent, 'cause those are harder to ignore.
Will add submissions to database as needed, and will likely read some of them.
Probably won't leave the house.
Hoping that if I get some solitude and downtime, then I can start to get back to coping on Thursday. We'll see.
. . . I tend to write these annual entries as if I were the only one affected by Peter's death, but of course I'm not. Sympathies to the rest of my family, and others who were close to Peter; I hope you're doing okay today.
