I'm okay.
(Note: read "I'm okay" as "I'm as okay as I can be" and let's be honest, that's not okay at all. I barley holding myself together. I can hear his voice in my head, as kind and sweet as ever. I miss him already, this was too quick. I can see the pain in my family's eyes. My gramma, my father, my sister, I'm sure my uncle, aunt and cousins too all trying to be strong and seem like they're holding themselves together. It's an act. I know because I'm putting on the same mask, playing the same part. But please let me do this, I need to. I can't break down. So when I tell you that I'm okay, please just pretend to believe me. If I can keep myself distracted for long enough, stop feeling the pain for long enough, forget for long enough, maybe it will all go away and I can move on. Until then indulge me a little, give me a distraction. Let me build my little hibernation nest, warm and protected in his arms, happy and cheery at work, mindless and comatose on the couch watching the screen flicker. I'll be better eventually, I promise.)
Poppa I love you, and always will. I'm happy that you're not in pain now and that you're free. I miss you though and just wish that I could give you a hug. I know you're watching over us and I promise that I'll make you proud. R.I.P
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[(kuh-thahr-suhs)] An experience of emotional release and purification, often inspired by or through art. In psychoanalysis, catharsis is the release of tension and anxiety that results from bringing repressed feelings and memories into consciousness.
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