Am I wrong?

This has been a strange time, and it's about to become stranger. This year, 2015, has seen the death of my mum and my husband's mother too. Im not sure what to think about everything going on around me. My mother's death was a blow. My three sisters and my brother were in turmoil over this. They probably still are. I don't have this problem, this grief, this anguish. I loved Mum but I seem to have trouble mourning her. I'm saddened and I miss her. Occasionally, I'll cry a little. But there's no real grief in me, and I'm not sure what to make of that.

It's funny...well, maybe not funny, but I was about to visit her in Her home in Oregon. The tickets were purchased and I even bought new clothes to take with me. I was leaving on May first to visit. Instead, on that day, I left for her wake and funeral in Massachusetts. We live nearby enough that it only took about eight hours to drive up. I couldn't help enjoying the trip. I laughed and smiled. We stopped at a fabulous deli in Connecticut. We stayed in a suite, not just a room. We had plans to visit my girlfriend; we hadn't seen each other in thirteen years, and our husbands would finally meet each other.

I wasn't very good at sadness, I suppose. Maybe there's something wrong with me. My brother and my sisters were heartbroken. Mum was gone. They were devastated by this unexpected death, this sudden loss of our family anchor. Why wasn't I? How could I be so crass as to be happy?

But I was. My mother was widowed at age fifty-eight, just shy of thirty-seven years of marriage. Mum was a widow until her death, several days after she turned ninety-three. She missed my father tremendously all those years, and we had spoken about going to Heaven and seeing Dad again. It was a hopeful thing. I held that in my heart, that when she died, she'd see my father again. When my sister called me on the last Saturday of April to tell me Mum was gone, I kept thinking she was with Dad again.

So, is there something wrong with me? I was pleased by my new dress, but I bought it to wear to a funeral. I got to see three of my siblings, but that was because Mum was gone. One old friend traveled down from Maine for the wake, and we all went to dinner together. It was my birthday, and the restaurant staff sang "Happy Birthday" to me. Shouldn't I have been more somber? I kept telling others and myself how happy I was for Mum to be reunited with Dad. Now I wonder if I'm just fooling myself. I think it may seem easier if I just broke down in tears; that's a normal response. I feel...alien. Apart. An infinity-shaped piece for a round hole. I feel only a little sorrow about losing Mum. Am I defective? Am I cold? What's wrong with me?