Saturday, September 27, 2014

Day 208: Grief is Everywhere

I'm part of a 30-day grief writing course.  Today's writing is in response to a prompt. Grief is everywhere...

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

This morning I was standing in my tiny red
bathroom, which also doubles as a shower.
Water spraying everywhere, my foot on the
toilet lid so I could make an attempt at shaving
my legs, I wondered when the last time was
that I changed the blades on my razor. This
thought was suddenly cut off by another. This
is how it is lately. My brain is a traffic jam of
unwanted thoughts. Sometimes there are crashes.

You should have been more compassionate. You
abandoned him. He would still be alive today if
you hadn’t have asked for space. Why did you do
that? There is no going back now. It’s over. It’s done.

Grief is everywhere. 
And sometimes it comes
when it’s not invited.

This evening I was playing “Cards Against
Humanity.” In each round, a player asks a
question from one set of cards, and the rest
of the players answer it with a card from their
own hand. The question card was put down:
“How did my last relationship end?” That was
the question. No joke. I looked at my hand.
“Dying.” That was the top card in my hand.
Dying. I laughed until tears fell and I yelled,
one else thought it was funny. Why did I?

Grief is everywhere. 
And it doesn’t always know
how to make friends.

People think I am moving on. They like to
think I am “better.” It reassures them to think
so. What can I say to that? That I often cannot
fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning?
That I’m going along with this- with this whole
thing, but I’m not the least bit happy about it?
What can I say to them, these people who want
to see me not grieving? That everything is ok?

Grief is everywhere.
And it doesn’t work its way out of my system
like the common cold or a seasonal bug.

Are you tired of hearing me talk about it?
Are you tired of seeing me write about it?
Believe me. I’m tired of living it. Grief is
exhausting. It is knock-you-down-time-and-
time-again exhausting. It’s I want to go back
so badly and each morning that I wake up
I have to come to terms with it all over again
exhausting. It is with my morning tea. My
drive to work. It is with my teaching in class.

My sitting alone at lunch. It is with my drive
home and my walking the dog. It is with my
heating up the soup and washing the dishes.
It is with my attempts to stop thinking about
it when I dive into virtual chatter or attempt
to read a good book. Grief does not hide itself.

Grief is everywhere.
And it doesn’t seem to prefer one activity
over another. It feels welcome for everything.

Last night I had a dream. I was on an airplane
full of passengers. There was plenty of room
to move about the cabin. In fact, there was an
arcade and a restaurant aboard. A ballgame was
on the screen, and people were jovial about all
manner of things. I was there. And so was grief.

The flight attendant nearly passed me by but
decided to stop. She gave me a clear plastic cup
filled with water. She gave grief a strong martini
with chunks of caramel floating in it. I don’t drink
alcohol. I can’t drink alcohol. I tossed back the
water and grief tossed back the martini. Oh…and
here it was…finally…the feeling of grief slipping off
of me and sliding to the floor while the rest of me
became comfortable once again in my own skin.

1 comment:

  1. I hate this grief. I don't want it. It feels like a parasite consuming me. I long for the dream you tell, of grief slipping off and sliding to the floor while the rest of you becomes comfortable again in your own skin.