Arrgh, the trial. Turns out that we were the next-to-last family to testify, so it's over as of yesterday, at least the trial part. Now we wait for a judgment, and then we will wait and see if the judgment is honored, or can be honored. (They will either find and freeze and disburse some Iranian assets, or not.) The testimony itself was really hard - even my eldest sister, who didn't cry at all at the deposition, cried on the stand. Most of my sisters' kids came too, and they would cry whenever a grownup would cry, they said later. My Uncle Greg (dad's little brother) cried the most. Then we all went to our separate houses and when I checked with my sisters and uncle yesterday, turns out we were all basket cases... two just didn't go to work, I spent most of the day sleeping and weeping and missed by unemployment meeting, one went to work and sat at her desk and wept... today I think we are all OK.
At the trial, Uncle Greg brought a poem that his daughter, my cousin, wrote called No Justice for Uncle Albert. Boyoboy, knives through the heart, what a poem, I *sobbed* and it was great, if that makes sense. I read it twice, crying and crying, and now only cry if I look at it - I'm reading it as much as possible, though, trying to get to the point where I can read it and not weep. Whew. There is another one she wrote after the OKCity bombing, very similar, wow and whew all over again. I hadn't seen the poem before, everybody else had. I cried for about 2 hours all over my new sweetie, too, which helped a lot also.
The waiting for an answer reminds me of applying to schools - then all you can do is wait while your life is in someone else's hands. Except that there is an end date (you'll get an answer one way or another by the next semester), and it's fun and exciting - none of that is true for this situation. I feel as if I've jumped off a cliff and may never hit bottom.
Meanwhile, Mom is getting better, and should be home soon, so that is also good.
RR, hope there are some good things going on for you, too, in the midst of all the sorrow. Kinda like roses growing from a dungheap - don't try to smell them, but appreciate their beauty anyway.