Last week on Facebook I made the following comment:

I didn’t cry once when I broke my ankle. I think I gasped during the x-rays, but otherwise? Nope.

How can this hurt so much worse?

When Grandmom died, I had a hard time. I missed her, but it was for selfish reasons. She’d been my North Star for my entire life, and without her I felt lost and cut adrift. Yet I knew she was tired and ready to die. She’d had 93 and a half years and was ready to go.

This loss, Ben’s death, is so very different and so much harder.

I’d mentioned before that Ben was like another little brother. I held him when he was a baby and babysat him when he was older. I went to his high school graduation and drove halfway across the damned country for his college graduation.

Just like a little brother he sometimes annoyed me, and I often didn’t understand him.

That’s an understatement.

In many ways, I don’t think it would be possible for us to be much more different. Ben loved taking risks and trying new things and meeting new people and going new places. I’m family-centered and anxious about everything. I quite literally could not even imagine myself doing the things he did. I stress out when confronted with talking to strangers and will often avoid parties, because the thought of trying to talk even to people I know stresses me out.

Which is kinda funny, because people are the center of my world. The core of my job is helping people, and I love doing it. I love helping people.

I just don’t know how to talk to them unless I’m being helpful.

Which is another part of what has made this so very hard.

I can’t help anyone–I can’t even help myself. I’m full of grief and anger and frustration that overwhelms me. I’d gladly break my other ankle or take any other kind of physical pain than continue to deal with this grief.

But of course, it doesn’t work like that. That’d just give me broken bones AND grief, which I’m pretty sure would suck even worse than what I’m feeling now.

How can something intangible hurt so damned badly?