To define is to limit.

shortly after i finished writing that last post, my mom called me. her and my dad have been living at the hospital for the past week to stay with my uncle, who was battling the last stages pancreatic cancer. this morning, he lost the battle. in a few hours they were going to fly him back to saudi arabia to see the two kids of his that couldn't come here and all of his brothers/sisters/nieces/nephews and mom for the last time.

i'm really good at compartmentalizing and have been keeping my mind on a tight leash and focusing on house-ish things with more concentration than strictly necessary for the past few weeks. at the moment, i think i'm kinda shocked, but soon, i know, the compartments will start to crumble and i'll be forced to actually deal with stuff. i dunno, it always comes as a complete surprise for me when people die. this was in no way a sudden death. a part of me has been waiting for the call for days now. a part of me has also been saying that it might be better for him to die. (if it were me, i'd either want to die or to be getting better. slowly and painfully deteriorating just seems like the worst possible thing to happen. ever.) but despite all of that, i'm still shocked. i'm still numb. i'm still surprised enough to lose myself in a foggy denial. this won't last long, i know. the fog will lift and i'll be forced to acknowledge the reality, the grief, the emptiness.