Pressure cooker

I am like a pressure cooker of grief. I can go along, hour by hour, minute by minute, and attend to the minutiae, but suddenly the pressure is too great, and I will weep for fifteen seconds or so. Then, back to our new version of normal.

My sister has pointed out to me that, after one of these outbursts, I will announce, "I'm all right." She did add that I don't have to be all right, and why would I be?

Yesterday, no one was all right. I spent the entire afternoon and early evening talking to each of the kids individually. Rocky still has his grief buried so very deep that he is alternately running away from it or picking on his sisters to make them visibly hurt. He keeps insisting he is fine.

Kiki finally melted down in geometry class yesterday, much to the distress of her teacher, who couldn't figure out how to help her and eventually sent her to the guidance counselor's office to depressurize. Kiki informed me that she later returned to the guidance office to tell them, "I'm all right."

Nita, on the other hand, is the most honest of all of us. She's angry, and by golly, we all know about it and have experienced her wrath. She's not all right, she wonders if she will ever be all right, and someone is going to pay for this Hell she is being put through.

Last night, I went to the nearby Borders store to use up a couple of gift cards and do some Christmas shopping, not to mention give everyone some space. I found all kinds of things which made me think, "Oh, EG would like that." So much he won't get to do and see here with us. So, who's going to pay for this Hell?