Free o 7d2acff2003a9b7d by Unknown

“remember that you can rely on your friends and your family now. They want to be here for you. They want to help you. But they might not always know the best way to help you.”
    “So I probably shouldn’t shout at them,” I said.
    Carol smiled. “Well … not if you help it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t tell people when you want to be alone. Or, if you REALLY want to shout, how about turning up your stereo full blast and screaming? You can say whatever you want. I’ll tell you father that I suggested this to you.”
    I managed a smile. “Okay,” I said.
    “Now,” Carol went on, “do you want me to call the florist? I’d be happy to do that.”
    “No. I kind of want to do it. I like the idea of choosing flowers for Mom. I don’t know why I got so mad at Dad.”
    “Maybe you’re not really mad at your father. Maybe you’re just mad that the flowers have to be chosen in the first place.”
    3:17 P.M.
    I’m spending way too much time writing in my journal.
    But I have to write.
    7:30 P.M.
    I’m exhausted. Didn’t mention earlier who’s been here today. I mean specifically. It feels like everyone on the planet has been here.
    Grandma and Grandad came over last night, of course. And they were here for a long time today. For some reason, I didn’t feel like being with them. Grandma looked hurt. She called to me twice in my room. Finally I agreed to eat supper with her and Grandad and Dad and Aunt Morgan. The five of us crowded around the little table in the kitchen that was crammed with food and baskets and mail and packages. We tried to eat with all this stuff overflowing around us. Our elbows kept bumping; there was barely room enough for us and the meal.
    I don’t know what got into me, but I gazed through the doorway into what had been Mom’s room and said, “Won’t it be nice to have the dining room back again? Then we can have more space.”
    I thought Aunt Morgan was going to slap me. Dad began to cry and left the table. So I slammed my fork down and left the table too.
    It’s funny. I just realized that I set out to make a list of the people who have been by today when what I guess I really wanted to write about was what happened at dinner.
    I am a mean, horrible, awful person.
    7:42 P.M.
    And I am so tired of writing in this stupid journal.
    Sunday 3/21
    7:46 P.M.
    I guess I needed a break from the journal. Sometimes writing is helpful. Sometimes it
    intensifies everything. I don’t need my feelings intensified just now.
    Dawn is here with me. She’s writing in her journal too. It’s been some day.
    Last night I apologized to Dad (again) and we all calmed down. I went to bed early and actually fell asleep. I slept for a long time — until almost 7:00 this morning.
    Today was almost as busy as yesterday, but a different kind of busy. Yesterday we made the rest of the phone calls, the horrible ones when we had to tell people about Mom. Most of the funeral arrangements have been taken care of. What happened today was just that people kept coming by. In droves, it seemed. In the morning, they were mostly friends of Mom’s and Dad’s. After awhile [sic] I got tired of sitting with them and went to my room. A few minutes later Dawn showed up. (I told her she was brave, considering how I treated her yesterday.) She ended up staying through the afternoon. In the morning we just sat in my room and talked. Dawn is almost as sad about Mom as I am. She has her own mother, and Carol, but she was close to Mom, kind of in the way I’m close to Carol. I have to say that at first I was irritated to discover how upset Dawn was — like being upset about Mom should be my personal right since I am her actual daughter. But then I thought about how I would feel if Carol died. I guess it’s okay for Dawn to be as sad as I am.
    Dawn looks horrible. Pale and fragile.
    Is that how I look?
    Around lunchtime, Dawn and I crept into the kitchen and fixed plates of food for ourselves. We brought them back to my