Jung

My youngest sister called me last night at about 12:30. She needed to talk. Our grandfather (my father's father), I learned earlier yesterday, passed. Even after the hopeful sign of his waking up from his unconscious state a week ago, he did not survive.

We talked for about an hour and 20 minutes about this new onslaught of sadness. She was the closest to him of the three of us girls. They were buddies. She called him all the time.They laughed together and had a bond that I certainly never approached with him. This is not to say that I am not sad, but I also know that I am not experiencing the same grief as my sister. My middle sister's emotions are opaque. I know she grieves for my father--I have no doubt she registers, significantly, the loss of our grandfather. But she is so even-tempered.

When the doctor told us that my father was brain dead, Crystal began to cry immediately. But she never made a sound. Caryl and my mother sounded like wounded wolves. My own tears were those of someone prepared for the worst news. They were acquiescent. Not all together muffled, but not overwrought.

I'm glad she called. I was having trouble sleeping, though I had been in bed for 2 hours by that time. Even if I had been in the grips of R.E.M., I would have wanted her voice intruding. I told her when our father died to always call me if she felt untethered. To not worry about any ridiculous notion of time or convenience.

We lost both of the last men in our lives, just a day apart really. My grandfather fell, and in effect was lost to us the day after we lost my father. I am not worried about myself. I am 33. But my sisters are 21 and 23, which is very very young, it occurs to me just now.

So now I have moved on to Jung. The animus. The anima. The shadow and the conscious self.