Day 23: Anger Speaks and I Can't Sleep

 (With "Cousin Isaac" at the Bamboo Park, Geoje Island)

March 23, 2014

Notes on grief- day 23.

I feel the need to chronicle the waves. I want to look back on this writing and think, "Remember that? See? It's better now. It's gotten better." I believe that will happen. Everything I read tells me it will.

Here's what I'm noticing. I have about 4-6 fairly intense waves of grief a day. I can't seem to predict when they'll happen, but it seems to be after a period of holding it together to teach a class or give a lecture. I can always feel it coming on and it will stop as abruptly as it starts. Some of my best humor comes right after a wave of grief. A one-liner to transition between what someone hasn't signed up to witness, but does, and back to our regularly scheduled program. I have witnesses to grief, and that makes it a lot less lonely.

My anger amuses me. And I'll just let it come, I guess. I've found myself feeling intense bursts of rage at the thought of another man ever trying to date me. I can't imagine ever wanting it, despite my agreement to Gareth's dad not to close myself off to the possibility forever. Today a young man from Bangladesh sat next to me at the train station in Seoul and shared the outlet I was using to charge my phone. He lives in Gyeongju, Gareth's town, and like most conversations I'm having with unexpected people these days, this one struck me.

How I told him about Gareth, I'm not sure. How we got on the topic of loving again, I'm not sure. But here I was, allowing tears to fall in yet another very public place, and taking advice from someone young enough to be my son. "No one will ever love me in the way Gareth did. No one will compare," I explained. "It's not fair to ever put someone in that position. And I'm pretty sure I will never love someone like I loved Gareth."

"That's true," my new friend said. "No one will love you like he did. Because all love is different. Someone will love you differently." I can't help but wonder if Gareth still has a hand in helping me hear what I need to hear. Granted, at the moment I wanted to scream and hear my voice echo throughout the station: "I DON'T WANT ANYONE ELSE! CAN'T YOU F***ING HEAR ME? I WANT GARETH BACK!" But I didn't scream. I listened. I'm trying to listen. In the meantime, I need all potential suitors to kindly back the fuck off.

I felt the same rage walking on the crowded Seoul sidewalks today. I got behind a young couple holding hands and I couldn't get around them. I wanted to run. Just run. I didn't want to see anyone being happy. Being in love. Touching hands. Comforting one another with their presence.

On the way up from the train platform in Daegu, another young couple stood on the escalator in front of me. The girl hopped one step up, faced her boyfriend, and buried herself into him- arms wrapped and bodies still and I knew exactly what that felt like. And I was angry.

And then I had a fleeting moment of being happy for them. I want to be happy for people. I want to feel joy. I want to see this without feeling like my legs are going to give out or I'm going to be sick to my stomach. I stared at their feet, facing each other, and tried to be happy.

When I got home, I pulled into a parking spot outside of my apartment, shut my car off, and did what I've done several times in the past few weeks- which is just sit there. I just...sit there. In my car. Music or no music. People walking by or street deserted. I just...sit there. I've sat there for up to 30 minutes before, and for the life of me I can't figure out my resistance to getting out of that car and going into my apartment. I wondered tonight if it would be possible for me to sleep in there overnight. I had to use the bathroom. Man...I'm going to have to go inside, aren't I?

I'm also resistant to going to bed. I used to be a night owl. Gareth certainly was. But in the past few years, I've been happy to retire at 10:30 or so. Recently I find myself, as I am now, sitting on the couch at nearly 3 a.m., wondering how it is that I'm going to get myself to go in that room and crawl into that bed.

I read this is a common problem. I read perhaps moving the furniture would help. I moved the furniture. I'm tired now. I logically know sleep is a good idea. I just can't make myself go in there. A few nights I've found someone online and just sent a brief message: "Ok...I'm going to do it. I'm going to go in there and go to sleep." The commitment made it so, even if an hour or two after I hit send.

It's not that I'm having nightmares. It's not that I have a huge wave of grief when I turn off the lights. I can't really say what it is. I just can't seem to do it, like I can't seem to get out of the car.

Grief is weird.

Today a friend sent me an article from the New York Times titled "An Online Generation Redefines Mourning." I found myself in some of the paragraphs and that was good. I'm certainly aware my parents' generation would never be documenting each twist and turn in their grief process online for hundreds to see. Gareth used to say, "I'm a poet. That's what I do." And I get that. I'm a writer and an avid documentarian. It's what I do. It's how I process what's happening around me and inside of me. It's what gave me and incredible detailed journal of my time with Gareth, and plenty of photos to match.

Wondering if it's appropriate, if I'm offending someone, if people think I'm self-centered in my grieving, if I don't have the write to grieve in this way- this will do me no good. With that said, I'm surprised at how my not-so-gentle inner critic has taken a few stabs at me with all of the above. Kick a girl while she's down, inner-critic. You're an asshole.

Tomorrow I'm off work. I'll sleep in, hopefully. Do some lesson planning. Go for a walk. Wash some clothes. Study some Korean. Go to Korean class in the evening. Pick up some delicious David Mansell food. I'll do this one thing at a time, and make space for the waves.

March 23, 2014

"Stop crying! You're making your eyes ugly and you're going to get lines in your neck!" Nothing like the scorn and judgment of a crabby old Korean lady to snap you out of a weepy moment. Glad you were there to witness that, Beth Moore! Pretty funny.