(yes, I’m writing, yes, I know I wasn’t sure I would and I might not keep it up. It will be whatever it is. How’s that for non-committal hogwash? If you’re sticking with me, thank you. If you’re not, you’re not reading this sentence anyway).
The last couple weeks have been hard for me. Really, really hard.
It’s what I call “can’t unload the dishwasher” level. You know, where you sit on the couch and look at the dishwasher and know it needs to be unloaded but for the life of you can’t get the energy required to do the chore?
I’ve had that burning feeling behind my eyes, like I could burst into tears at any moment, for any reason.
I walked into my therapist’s office and she told me my body language was “off”. I sobbed the rest of the session.
And although in some ways it feels like just the mild depression I always get, the focus seems to be on the grief from losing people I love. There are SO MANY dead people and I miss them all so very much.
I cried these last couple of weeks for my grandmothers (both of them), my dad, my grandfather (both of them), my mother-in-law, my father-in-law. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been in charge of the gift buying at Christmas and when I went out this year I was made painfully aware of how many of us have left.
And even though they’ve all been gone for years, I still saw things that they would love, and had to stop myself from buying a gift for a person who’s human body has been gone from this earth for long enough that their buried bodies don’t even look like bodies anymore. I’m sorry if that’s not delicate enough for you. But the skin and bones were never anything but a suitcase for their souls, and I do feel very confident that those still exist.
And actually, they’re still here, of course. They are in my heart, they are in my mind, and in most cases they are literally in my DNA (not the in-laws, but my sons carry that on). The truth is grief is hard and relentless and doesn’t really end.
Maybe not. But this part should be encouraging. Just as I knew it would, after lots of tears had been shed, after lots of meals had been missed, the cloud lifted. I felt slightly better. My appetite returned.
And last night I made dinner without feeling I needed to take a nap in the middle.
To all who are sobbing and grieving and can’t eat, or sleep, or unload the dishwasher –this, too, shall pass.
And you are not alone.