And, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars,

...And he will make the face of Heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. - William Shakespeare

Death.
Over this past week and a half it has hit me too much. First, my good friend's sister was taken by cancer. She was seventeen. I was in theater class with her in my senior year last year. She was brilliant. Every time I saw her perform, I was baffled by her raw talent and intuition. This shouldn't happen.

Next was my Aunt, my mom's sister. She was found lying dead in her apartment The impact of her death hasn't taken effect. I can't believe I haven't cried yet. I think my heart is the only thing that hasn't been affected by global warming. Why can't I cry? Her death didn't surprise me. She was too affected by the object she was a slave to for years. All the same, she shouldn't have died yet. Both her eighty plus parents out lived her. This shouldn't happen.

Just now I found out that a former pastor of our church was killed by cancer. I don't even know what to say anymore except that this shouldn't happen.
All these people, as Shakespeare said, have now decorated my night sky with stars; glittering and flashing their memories light the darkness that is left in there physical absence.

Death isn't the end, certainly, but it's something I can't really wrap my head around. I don't even know what to think or how to act. My Mom is crying every five minutes. We're getting sympathy cards in the mail. My Dad is doing everything he can to help my Mom. My brothers and sisters are moody. I sit there not knowing what to do, so I bury myself in my job and in tasks I can get done around the house. Anything to keep busy and forget. I vacuum and do laundry around the giant elephant in the room. I do dishes and wash my dog next to the bomb that's about to explode. I want to be a tiny girl again and curl up with my Dad on the couch in my kitty cat nightgown and just breathe. If I stop for a second I worry my mother because the house is still messy and I need to be helping her all the time so she won't be sad. I'm taking this time when she is away packing things out of my Aunt's apartment to crack my skull open and pour the contents into the keyboard.
Even on the one day a week that I'm not working at one or both of my two jobs, I work until I can't find anything else to exhaust myself on. And now, like a selfish Hollywood starlet, I turn the tragedies in my life into a pretty little pity party for the paparazzi and magazines to monopolize on. Thank you for buying into my superficial scam. And again...I am cynical about my pain and honesty. I percieve my pain as weakness and don't allow myself grieve. Thank God for his understanding and his peace he gives me when I feel that I must be a cynic to cover my true feelings and real pain.