TMI on new grief
It's been a long week since I last posted. The house that my friends cleaned for me has descended once again into chaos. (Where does all this laundry come from? Especially towels. Have my dogs learned to shower, and if so, why aren't they cleaning the tub?) I've arranged the flowers all over the house and am now consolidating the fresher flowers into fewer arrangements. I've gone back to work, and work is good. My friends and the womanchild are making sure I'm not withdrawing and that I have things to do. More than anything else, I am just tired. I'm sad, and that's normal. I'm not depressed. I know the difference, and certain danger signs like hopeless and confusion notably beyond my every day state are not there. But I'm really, really, fucking tired, and I can't sleep for more than an hour or two at a shot. I'm also naturally very concerned about womanchild, but her grief is hers, and if she wants it out here, she'll do that. If I want to write about my grief here, I can and will.
This is just a really strange time. People keep asking me if I'm okay. My response is, "I'm doing as well as can be expected." It's the truth. The angry part of me wants to say, "No, I'm not okay. My husband up and died when we were in the middle of dealing with our marriage conflicts."
Two weeks ago, I didn't know where my marriage was going. That wasn't easy. Now, I know it's going nowhere, and I have no choice. I just have to cope. Just writing that feels incredibly selfish. Come on, let me have just a little more time, time enough to say, "Despite our problems and the pain we've caused each other, I still love you. Maybe not the way I used to, but no less, just different." Let me say, "You're a good man." I don't want my husband to have died thinking he was unloved, and I'll always have to live with not knowing. No, I am not fucking okay. Why the fuck would I be okay?
I am supposed to be strong, and I am, to a degree. I pretty much keep my emotions in check. I can smile and be gracious at work, though some of the customers who have come to be familiar with me have noticed that I'm lackluster. I don't mind asking for small favors, like skipping a certain song on our music CD for the month at work. It's that sad James Blunt song, Carry You Home. I hear, "As strong as you were, tender you go. I'm watching you breathing for the last time. A song for your heart, but when it is quiet, I know what it means and I'll carry you home. I'll carry you home" and I just want to bawl and tear my hair out. So, a couple of notes, and whoever's closest to the CD player hits skip. Thank goodness for work friends. I get up, move around, and if I don't get the house as clean as it could be, we deal with it.
I've eaten too much rich, fattening, non-nutritious food. We became House of Brownies for awhile. I've shopped and bought too many clothes. Why am I buying clothes? I've spent too much time surfing the net for stupid stuff. None of this has been enjoyable. I suppose it's a way of reminding myself that I'm still alive and at the same time punishing myself because I feel guilty for so many things. Then I remember why R. and I separated and how things were, and I know I shouldn't feel guilty. But we can't make it right or move on!
I wish there was still a defined etiquette for mourning. Though the old customs of wearing black for a year, avoiding all social occasions and hanging a black wreath on the door seem really stupid, it would be helpful if there was a proper form to follow. I've seen people look at me disapprovingly because I laughed in public. I feel somehow distasteful. When people see me, they are reminded of the mortality of their loved ones and themselves. I even had the thought that this discomfort I cause people might have been one of the reasons behind suttee. My very existence is in bad taste. Yes, I know how stupid that is, but I can't stop the random thoughts now. Now, there's no form to follow, no guidelines to smooth the bumps out of the way. Nothing but time and grace can ease the pain.
When I reach this point, I go numb. Too much is happening, and the system just shuts down to cool off.
I'm doing as well as can be expected. Nobody said that had to be good.
This is just a really strange time. People keep asking me if I'm okay. My response is, "I'm doing as well as can be expected." It's the truth. The angry part of me wants to say, "No, I'm not okay. My husband up and died when we were in the middle of dealing with our marriage conflicts."
Two weeks ago, I didn't know where my marriage was going. That wasn't easy. Now, I know it's going nowhere, and I have no choice. I just have to cope. Just writing that feels incredibly selfish. Come on, let me have just a little more time, time enough to say, "Despite our problems and the pain we've caused each other, I still love you. Maybe not the way I used to, but no less, just different." Let me say, "You're a good man." I don't want my husband to have died thinking he was unloved, and I'll always have to live with not knowing. No, I am not fucking okay. Why the fuck would I be okay?
I am supposed to be strong, and I am, to a degree. I pretty much keep my emotions in check. I can smile and be gracious at work, though some of the customers who have come to be familiar with me have noticed that I'm lackluster. I don't mind asking for small favors, like skipping a certain song on our music CD for the month at work. It's that sad James Blunt song, Carry You Home. I hear, "As strong as you were, tender you go. I'm watching you breathing for the last time. A song for your heart, but when it is quiet, I know what it means and I'll carry you home. I'll carry you home" and I just want to bawl and tear my hair out. So, a couple of notes, and whoever's closest to the CD player hits skip. Thank goodness for work friends. I get up, move around, and if I don't get the house as clean as it could be, we deal with it.
I've eaten too much rich, fattening, non-nutritious food. We became House of Brownies for awhile. I've shopped and bought too many clothes. Why am I buying clothes? I've spent too much time surfing the net for stupid stuff. None of this has been enjoyable. I suppose it's a way of reminding myself that I'm still alive and at the same time punishing myself because I feel guilty for so many things. Then I remember why R. and I separated and how things were, and I know I shouldn't feel guilty. But we can't make it right or move on!
I wish there was still a defined etiquette for mourning. Though the old customs of wearing black for a year, avoiding all social occasions and hanging a black wreath on the door seem really stupid, it would be helpful if there was a proper form to follow. I've seen people look at me disapprovingly because I laughed in public. I feel somehow distasteful. When people see me, they are reminded of the mortality of their loved ones and themselves. I even had the thought that this discomfort I cause people might have been one of the reasons behind suttee. My very existence is in bad taste. Yes, I know how stupid that is, but I can't stop the random thoughts now. Now, there's no form to follow, no guidelines to smooth the bumps out of the way. Nothing but time and grace can ease the pain.
When I reach this point, I go numb. Too much is happening, and the system just shuts down to cool off.
I'm doing as well as can be expected. Nobody said that had to be good.
posted by Cynthia at
7:03 PM
12 Comments:
(o)
You grieve however you need to. We are not all the same. I remember when my Dad passed. I thought if one more person tells me how sorry they are, I'm going to punch them in the face. People just dont know what to say sometimes, because we just like I said...different, and grieve in our own personal way.
I'm here for you.
Love,
Connie
That last sentence made no sense. It should say People just dont know what to say sometimes, because we are just like I said...all different and grieve in our own personal way.
Love ya again...
Connie
I'm doing as well as can be expected. Nobody said that had to be good.
...and I suspect it won't be ("good") for quite awhile. Why should it be?
((((Cyn))))
you're making a lot of sense. and i'm lifting you to light. ((((cyn))))
My heart goes out to you, Cynthia. Leave your southern sense of propriety behind and just grieve however gets you through. I suspect your R. knew the things you would have liked to have said. After all, he was back in the house. May God carry you through your days until you are strong enough to stand on your own.
aaaahhhh....how well I can relate to this entire post. When Gil died it was a bit different because we knew he was dieing, just not when he would die. The death still snuck up on us right after a bitter argument about why he could not commit to marrying me.
No one understood how I reacted and I felt dirty too.
I get it, I do.
Life goes on and be glad for the living...validate the breath and the pain of breathing it. Rely on your faith for that is the only thing that kept me from putting the gun barrel in my mouth.
All so true. It's so frustrating and scary that we can't rush these things. Slow is best, but it is also so dark and so long. xxoxoxoooxo
Good and OK are not on the agenda right now. Except for once in awhile when they are.
You'll be ok again someday, but a different ok than before. Whenever.
Oh, and one other thing. Your laughter and your existence are an affront to no one. You are filled with grace, girl.
Keep writing this. You have every right to feel this way and just as much to express it.
yes, nobody ever has the right words... but in all the clumsiness poeple want to support and cherish you, and surround you in bright white light to allow you and woman child to be.
One foot in front of the other at your pace. I am glad you are surrounded by love.
Catching up, friend, after a long absence. You are held in prayer.
Mags
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