Grieving is a bitch.

Normally, I’m a very composed person. With my training in PR, I’ve handled all sorts of situations and to be graceful under pressure. I never crack. I can tell people anything, no matter how devastating or funny, with a straight face. I have to be detached from the situation and just tell it as it is. My take on grieving is to do it privately. Suck it in, live with it. I am the poster child of calm.

But this is dad. My own Tevye. I don’t feel like talking to all these people, repeating everything over and over again from the President to the lowly janitor. It’s completely draining whatever I have left inside me.

And to have him gone all too quickly, without having the chance to really tell him what I wanted to say, resolve all my daddy issues, I have become such a wreck. I took time for granted. He was such a magnanimous person that one would think he would live forever.

I just want to sit by the coffin and look at him, and please, allow me to bawl like a baby no matter how scandalous I think it is (and probably scold myself later on).

So, yeah. Fuck me senseless and let me bury my head under the sheets.