In the scheme of things that might not seem like a big deal, except when you consider the fact that I'm the midst of cooking, cleaning, serving, and caring there is little time left over for grieving. Add to that the fact that all I wanted all week was for someone to hug me while I cried a river, and I couldn't get a hug from anyone unless I, too, wanted to succumb to this horrible plague. It's making me a pretty sad elf.
It's lasted for a week, so far. So instead of lying in Coffeeguy's arms for comfort, he's on the couch with all his germs and I'm here...in this sea of alone-ness that is my bed. I can't even call Mom, because she has it worse than any of us, and she's grieving the loss of a son for the second time. My feeling of alone-ness is only trumped by my feeling of helplessness--there is absolutely nothing I can do to help my mother that my remaining brother isn't already doing..I wanted to end this with the moral to the story, but somehow I'm missing it.
