The Days Pause.

Rough night. Rough days ahead.

The diary is mine, but sometimes the story is not mine to tell. As often as not, I’m on the outside, a spectator to things that I play only a peripheral role in. I may be writing from my point of view, but that doesn’t necessarily make me the central character. More often than not, it should make me the nearly invisible witness. I can emote and opine and quip, but I’m still telling a third person story. Sometimes I think I am better at bon mots than I am at belles lettres.

The Socialist’s mother died yesterday morning. She’d been failing since Christmas. I’m glad I made it out to California last summer. I wish I could have gone to California to see her one last time. And yet, at the same time, I’m glad I didn’t go with the Socialist to visit his family over Christmas. He didn’t need to deal with me, to keep me amused while he puttered around his family’s house, visiting with his parents and spending time just talking and being with them. It would have been an intrusion.

When he first returned home after Christmas, The Socialist told me that the last time he was with his mother he remembered thinking that it could be the last time he’d see her alive. It was, and I don’t know if having that memory will make things harder or easier on him.

All losses of this ilk are hard, but the first is always the hardest. And if the first is the woman who raised you, cared for you, protected and defended you, then the loss is harder still. How do I offer solace in the face of that? What comfort is it to hear that it never gets better; it just gets easier?

As I said, this is not my story to tell. I’m only a lesser player, affected by the Socialist’s pain. That isn’t to say that my life isn’t touched. It’s just that I am insignificant in these affairs, and to write about my part of it emphasizes the wrong things.

I’ve gathered the information necessary to get a bereavement fare. I don’t think I qualify, just the Socialist. I will go out with him to for the funeral though. The Colonel has offered to pay both our airfares. Services and internment won’t be for two weekends; I’m not sure why the delay, but I can’t deny that it makes planning easier from our end. Once the Socialist confirms what dates he’ll be taking off with the school I’ll arrange for the tickets and cat sitter. There isn’t much more I can do that is of any true use after that.