We got back from the States today. We were so exhausted that we took naps. I woke up before Mr A and started catching up on my k-rap telly I had recorded when we were gone. I felt so happy. We had such a wonderful holiday. Stressful, weird, intense, difficult (the travelling was way OTT), but to see everyone...so many reunions. There seemed to be a lot of healing going on. Everyone seemed so happy to be together. I come from a very mixed background with no brothers and sisters with both my parents, but plenty from either my biological mother and my dad (I was adopted by my step-mother after my biological mother died). Yet, I was so glad to be home. I felt so good.
It felt good to be home. It felt good that everyone was so happy. My husband sang his new karoke song in the shower. A group of my siblings went out to a bar and Mr A wowed them with his singing, including a new song that wasn't in his usual repertoire. I was trying to upload more pictures to FB (we took so many) and generally feeling content when one of my sisters called asking for Mr A. I joked about his new secret fan, and handed him the phone.
My sister actually had bad news. Sometime when we were in the air, probably over Ireland, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was found a few hours later. We didn't have a perfect relationship, but I will miss her and think about her every day for the rest of my life. I don't know how my sister who lives with my parents and her children are going to handle this. I don't know how dad will handle this. I knew this was coming, but I didn't expect it for a few more years. She was in poor health, but still relatively young. She had made it past the danger zone with her sepsis (two separate boughts of it). When I realised it was bad news, I expected it to be my dad and not her. Trying to make sense of it all. Trying not to beat myself up over the things I should or shouldn't have said, the things I should or shouldn't have done.
I guess it's time to book a flight back...
