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I think I made it. The finishing line. It’s right in front of me.

Funeral is done, with an incredibly lovely cremation service. Friends of his from far and wide, including people from the taxi rank he used to be a part of, so many years ago. People I haven’t seen in donkey’s years. I was one of the coffin bearers…I’m honoured that the rest of the family were happy to let me do that under the circumstances. My brother has taken the ashes, and will look after them until we are all together again to scatter or bury.

My brother has been amazing. He has had to learn an incredible amount about me and my past in an almost painfully short space of time. And he’s handled it brilliantly. I have a big brother again. I told him today that I was sorry for his loss. I felt so sad for him. But even at the lowest, he’s been brilliant. We have similar histories, similar growing-up stories. We weren’t under the protective wing of our parents, so we made our own way through life. In different and similar ways, we learned the same lessons. Can tell the same stories, can relate to the same things.

Shouldn’t be that way, shouldn’t have to live that life…but we’re much richer for it.

The fact that he took the time to begin to understand the non-existent relationship with my dad, is the biggest breakthrough of my entire family. No one else did that.

He’s learned more about me in the last 3 months than anyone else has in the last 20 years. He’s learned stuff only The Mr knows.

He’s piecing together a lot of pieces. Anyone else would run scared, not listen. Many have done. More will do. He didn’t run. He pushed me away once or twice, but he was in his own pain. But he didn’t run. That’s amazing. I love my brother.

Never did I ever think I could say that and mean it.

All paper work is done. Today was dealing with the building society to close the account, and pay the rest of the funeral expenses. We will be having stern words with unprofessional behaviour of Co-op Funeral Services. A “courtesy call” to check that everything went ok yesterday, shouldn’t immediately be followed by (in the very same breath) “yeah so you still owe £1200, are you going to pay that now, or..?”

I broke down. Maintained the pleasantries, told her “thank you, please speak to my husband and it will be sorted, because I’m pretty certain there’s a mistake…” hung up the phone…and the sobbing started before I even knew what was happening.

That’s happened an awful lot over the last few weeks.

More times than I can remember.

My brother was there. I think, just having another human being there, made those vomit inducing moments slightly easier to bear. A sympathetic, yet very practical voice of reason. I can relate to that kind of voice. I don’t know what would have happened if he wasn’t there. He was brilliant.

I love my brother.

I have a big brother again. That feels good.

The Smalls broke up for half term today. Right now they’re eating their favourite Chinese food. Me? I have my bottle of prosecco, and the possibility of a straight night of sleep. First time in very nearly 3 months. I’ve averaged 3.5 hours a night. If I wasn’t so exhausted, I’d be proud.

But for 1.5 weeks, I don’t have to do anything. I’m shutting down. I don’t have a choice; my body will shut down anyway.

This whole episode, this chapter, this…this whole thing has been one of the sharpest, steepest learning curves I have ever endured. The emotional investment, the mental capacity for expenses and figures, the stability to manage the paperwork…I’ve never known anything like it.

I think I made it. And I think I did ok.

I pretty much ploughed into what needed to be done, and have barely resurfaced into a normal life. Every time I stick my head above water, I choke.

Which didn’t make sense to me.

Surely I needed air? To breathe? To survive?

Nope.

Quite literally, keeping my head down, and doing all the admin, and the funeral arrangements, and making sure everyone got what they wanted for the funeral (within financial and respectful reason) meant keeping my head down and getting on with it.
I noticed the illnesses whenever I tried to relax. First and foremost, it’s the lack of sleep. I fall asleep, at a reasonable hour, and then wake up, at a normal time, and wonder why I feel like I haven’t slept in approx. 14 years. I put my FitBit back on to monitor my sleep – turns out I was getting 3 hours a night. 7 hours in bed, up to 4 hours restless and/or awake. People suggested various forms of get-you-to-sleep methods.

Falling asleep is rarely the problem.

Staying asleep seems beyond me.

And of course it’s always accompanied by the most awesome and unpleasant dreams. Last nights dream included my left arm suddenly being covered in welts, which suddenly started to swell and split open and then my whole arm was bleeding over someone’s t-shirt, but it’s ok because I was on a plane going to New York.

I do love New York.

Closely followed by lack of sleep, quite understandably, is the nausea. Never actually being sick, just that constant desire to throw up everything I ever ate, everywhere. Food is a bit hit and miss. Crisps and tea makes a surprisingly sustainable diet, however.
Inevitably, migraines came back full force, too. I haven’t had regular migraines for a long time, so when they do come, I’m kinda laid back about them. They hurt like a motherfucker, but I can deal because I know it’ll be gone eventually and I won’t see another one for a long while.

HAHAHAHAH not this time.

Wave after wave of migraine after migraine.

Too many times I’ve had to ask The Mr to come home early, whilst wondering if I was even safe to pick up The Smalls from school, or stand in front of the oven and make something that looked like dinner. Migraines are asshole. Proper fucking assholes.

As if the pain itself isn’t bad enough, the fact that it takes days to recover is a frigging ball ache. I don’t have time to be feeling like I’m recovering from the flu (dealing with the fucking nausea).

Last week’s ailment was a new one. Extreme stomach cramps followed by trips to the bathroom. Ohhhhh deeeeeeeeep joooyyyyy.

I hate that the pain only comes on when I get super tense, usually talking about one of the things I pretty much don’t ever want to talk about again. It’s weird to think that a subject can take its toll so bad, that not only do you repel it mentally, but physically, too.

I feel incredibly and desperately broken.

The thought of turning to my “family” for help and support fills me with dread. The few times I’ve tried, has secured the belief that the backlash is never ever worth it.

So, tomorrow morning, we go to the crematorium. And do the funeral. And on Wednesday, I have to collect his ashes. And then, because no one has agreed to what they want doing with the ashes, I have to do that thing where life carries on as normal.

Everything goes back to the way it was, minus one person. Which shouldn’t make any difference, since I had no connection with that person. But I feel like I should anticipate a backlash, somewhere, somehow. And I don’t want it.

I’ve done everything I can to make this as easy as possible for the rest of the family, and for his friends…and I’m going to say this out loud for the first time, but…I don’t feel like I’ve gotten any respect for it. My brother, granted, and having spent time with me, has begun to come to understand what I’m trying to do to help. Since I’m pretty much the outsider (and no…no it’s not entirely through my choice, and no…no I did not push everyone else away), I figured the only thing I could do in a situation where I could do something, was make it easier for everyone else. Admin is a shitty job, but someone had to do it. I was in a position to do it. So I did.

It was the least I could do, I thought, at the time. Turns out, it was way more than I could ever have done, because I’m pretty much broken from doing it.

And after all is said and done, I’m writing this and thinking to myself, “where is my support? Where are the people who understand me? Where are those who are thankful, grateful, appreciative of all I’ve done?”

I hate when people do that thing where they’re all, “yeah, but look at what I did for you! I did so much, I wasn’t even asked!” It seems so pathetic, so overly dramatic, so needy, and yet here I am, doing it myself. We all have needs.

I’m tired of being tired. I have lost track of how many times I’ve said that over the last few months.

I keep thinking this horrible nightmare, which replays itself over and over and over, in my head, a million times a day…I keep wondering when will it end. I hope it ends soon. I don’t think it really will.