A child I used to care for passed away. Surprise. Unexpected. I cried already. I've smiled at memories. I tried to forget while at work, and it worked by the end of the day, until my boss sweetly told me she'd pray for me.
But it just seems so surreal. A non-compute. Because little kids aren't supposed to die.
Going to bed is tough. I can plow through the rest of the day, but going to bed seems almost wrong somehow. Like it is carrying on as if all was normal when it isn't. Like I should be doing something for him or his family or something.
I worked. The first hour or so felt really weird. A disconnect from the kids I work with that I am currently reminded could die at any time. Basically any person or animal could die at any time. And I expect death when people or animals get to old. Not that it doesn't still bother me.
Actually, I feel a lot like I felt when my grandpa died. Including happening to have a cold or something on the side. But minus the guilt that I hadn't flown back to visit him (my grandpa) like I had said I might or something like that (at least OCD was convinced I had broken my promise to him). So at least that guilt isn't there.
Not that OCD isn't there. People seem to have some sympathy when things go wrong like somebody dying. But not OCD. It jumps up and says, "Are you sure you should have canceled playing guitar at the women's retreat from church this weekend in the interest of keeping your cold to yourself, getting time to recuperate, and then the added memorial service? Maybe that was the wrong choice."
You'd think it could give me a break.
Instead of saying, "Maybe you drove over your neighbor and the thing that looks like a person inside the glass door isn't really him." Nice, OCD. Really sweet of you.
But at least as the day went on, it seemed to slack off.
So that is where I am now. Scatterbrained and somewhere between my normal life that is going well and the broken comprehension that a little kid's tour on earth has ended. With a cold on the side.