Fear.

I'm sitting here at the house in my sleeping bag on top of the bed in the master bedroom, and the fat ghost cat keeps stalking back and forth from the door to the opposite wall. Every once in a while he walks into the blinds that run alongside the glass door on the other side of the room, which terrifies me because I didn't realize he was there in the first place. But aside from that, I'm getting used to being in this house. It's actually very comfortable, and (aside from the smelly dog) very clean. Also, no more run-ins with crazy neighbor-lady. I forget if I mentioned it, but after the events of yesterday, I left a note for her on the doorstep when I left - telling her (in my near-perfected, heavily-practiced, polite-yet-firm tone) that I was following instructions exactly and everything was under control, but if I had questions, I would not hesitate to call. Haven't heard a peep since. Still, every time I come back to the house after a few hours of being away, I have to mentally prepare myself and get over the inane fear that there will be a note waiting for me on the kitchen counter.

I keep thinking about yesterday's visit to Ami, my grandmother. Jon, Kate and I all went over and sat with her for quite a while, just talking about life and television and things like that. She's getting very forgetful these days, and moody - she also doesn't leave her room anymore. For a long time after Papa died, she was incredibly and obviously heartbroken, and she acted like it. Now, though, it's almost like she's forgotten the reason that she's upset. And I know that's not the case, because whenever anything relating to Papa is brought up, she begins to cry. But that's the best way I can describe it - her sadness, her moods, don't seem to match with the sadness and moods that she felt in the month (even the year) following his death. She gets cranky now, and very short with everybody; and then immediately turns around and acts like everything is fine. She also cries over things that seem to have no relevance. I know that everything she does is a reaction to him not being there... but it just feels disconnected. We can be talking about the most random thing, and if there is a silence or a lull in conversation, her eyes start to water and I can see that she's thinking about him. Sometimes she'll not say anything, and just sit there trying not to cry. That's when she's having one of her hard days. If she's got a better handle on herself, she'll look at me and pat my hand, and say, "Tell me something good." And then I have to think of something positive, and it gets hard sometimes.

Yesterday she started telling us about a story she heard on the news, about a woman who would drug her 3 year old so that the child would sleep, and then the woman would go out dancing without the bother - and one night she gave her daughter too much, and she died. Ami talked for a while about how horrific people could be, and then got back to the story - but now it had switched to a mother who had drowned her 3 year old, and buried her in the woods. Same characters, just different deaths. An hour or so later, while Kate and I were handing out fliers, Kate told me that those "cases" Ami had been talking about were episodes from Law and Order.

I have a very short memory when it comes to people sometimes. For example, when Dad shaved off his mustache (which he has had for longer than I've been alive), it took me a while to get used to it... but after two weeks or so, I began to forget when he had even looked like with it. In one way, it's good that I can adjust that quickly to changes. But I do wish I had better memories of Ami and Papa when they were younger and healthier. I envy my siblings and my parents for that. I'd like to be able to think back and remember people in their best days, but my memory just doesn't work that way.

And then, in the midst of all of this, I am afraid. Not because I'm incredibly caring and worried about other people - I mean I do worry for them, but I don't know that that's the reason I'm really afraid. In all honesty, what scares me the most is when I see Ami in her dark room, with the muffled sounds that are always coming from the radio by her bedside, with the pill bottles and box of tissues nearby, and I think - that could be me. I'm afraid of getting old and sick; of losing the people I love; of not "working" the way I used to; of being confined to a bed and not even allowing the blinds to be open because I will get a headache. Of being trapped because I'm afraid. How strange - I'm afraid of being afraid. I guess that makes sense, though. It's like being afraid to close your eyes in a dark room. You're not afraid of your eyes being closed... you're afraid of fearing that something will sneak up on you while you're not looking.

I know I need to go over there more often. But I'm selfish. I'm not good at handling these kinds of things.