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,
“I WIN! I MEAN…SERIOUSLY! I….WIN!” No

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.