Sigh

I am writing a blog rather than write the letter to the insurance people.

I really, really don't want to write the letter to the insurace people.

Really.

I know how emotionally strenuous it will be. I know that I will cry at least 4 times while writing it.

I would rather sit in my room and listen to the wind, which threatens to turn out the power and give me an excuse to not write the letter to the insurance people.

I just want it to be done. I know that it cannot be done by anyone other than me, and I can't fast forward time to where it is done, and I don't even have to read the damn thing.

But I will write it. And read it, again, and again, attempting to do justice to my father's life, and to the injustice that ended it.

I know that these people won't understand the anguish that is going to be in those pages. They are just that--words on paper--to them.

And to me....they are a haunting memory. Watching my father fall, the look on his face as he lay there on the floor in a puddle of blood. Of walking into the hospital room, only to have his heart stop, watching the heart monitor lines go flat. Of owning his last words on this earth.

I think if I knew that those reading this letter would understand what went into it, I would be more inclined to write it.

And now blogger is telling me I can't check my spelling. Please understand.