Gone from Our Sight

My stepdad Ed passed away last Saturday evening, February 28th. I was blessed enough to be in the room with him as he took his last breath. It was a privilege to be able to take part in his care as much as I did. It was an honor to hold his hand during his last few weeks. It was an honor to have known him these past eight years as my stepdad, and I will be forever, ever grateful for the love he showed my two children as their Poppa Ed. He was wise and useful and loving up through his very last weeks on Earth, and he is a role model in so many ways to all of us, both in how to live and also in how to die. In how to be present in this world and also in how to leave it behind. I am so sad for all of us, but I am so happy for Ed because I am confident that he is not suffering anymore and is in heaven.
Everything seems so incongruent right now for me as I grieve. In spite of how good of a good-bye I got to say to Ed, I am still left here feeling a huge hole in my life. My toenails are gorgeous. My sister-in-law Erin treated me to a pedicure yesterday and they are a bright, cheerful fuschia. But every time I look down at my feet, it just seems wrong. Today was a beautiful day, bright blue sky, puffy white clouds. Again, this just seems wrong. There are still floors to mop, sick kids to take care of, laundry to do, pets to feed. Everything keeps going, marching on and on and I just can't make any sense of any of it. There are some piles of junk sitting around my house and I keep staring at them and thinking, I should be the one who knows what to do with that stuff. This is my house, this is my life. But I can't bring myself to rifle through the junk, to put it all away where it goes. Pick up the pieces and move forward. Everything feels wrong. I guess this is grief.