Still Grief's Bitch

I woke up in a foul mood this morning. On the surface, there didn't seem to be any reason for my poor humor. I had a good day yesterday, a productive day. Something I hadn't had in a good long while. I went to bed exhausted, but happy. But when I woke up this morning, I was ready to tear someone's face off. I was just pissed at the world. I stayed that way all day. Work was abismal, and it wasn't because my students were poorly behaved or any more obnoxious than normal. I just didn't want to be there. I gave them their work, answered what questions they had, and took refuge in my email inbox. I sent an all call out to my IGs to rescue me from my sour mood, and they rallied, making me laugh with their jokes, stories about their delinquent brothers and the goings on of their day. (Have I said lately how much I adore my IG sistahs? Because I do. I really, really do.) As much as I enjoyed the stories and jokes, I just still couldn't snap out of the funk. I couldn't make myself not be pissed. My classes ended and the kids left. I sat in my room for a bit just trying to center myself and dig through my noodle to figure out what was bugging me. I needed to pump so I locked up and got all set, pulled out my Ipod to block out the noise from the kids in the hall and it hit me. Raymond. His birthday is Sunday, or it would be. He would be 28. I was cleaning last night and found the cds I made to play at his funeral. The music we used to say goodbye. I am still angry. I still don't have answers. I still don't understand how my brother ceased to be. Only now it's been two and a half years, so instead of grief being overt, causing me to fall apart, cry and generally cease to function until it passes, it's become a passive aggressive little whore, stealing my good mood and happy thoughts while I sleep. Even after all this time, I am still its bitch.
I feel a little better for having figured out what's wrong with me, but only just a little. I just want to not be angry anymore. I want to not be sad anymore. But every day there is something new that reminds me he's not here, something he misses I wish he could see. People have told me over and over again that time will make it better. It hasn't. It's just made it different.