I spent several weeks in the worst pit of grief I've experienced since R. died. Then I got a letter from Donor Services. They follow up with the families of people who have donated organs with letters and information about mourning. This one said that around nine months, many people experience an upsurge in grief, because the shock has worn off, the loss and the new reality have set in. I was definitely one of those people. Everywhere I looked, I saw misery and nothing of hope and value. This was one of the most frightening episodes of depression I've ever experienced. I really did want to just give up, except for one thing. I'm a mother, and that means I can't give up. My child is grown, but she is my child, and I would not back down from one of the lessons I've always tried to teach. You don't give up. You can change directions and find alternatives, but you just don't give up. So I didn't, and I went through the darkness with all of my emotions and all of my intellect, and every scrap of courage and fear and anger and endurance I could beg, steal or borrow.
Some time during all of this, C. and I lost our health insurance and promptly got hit by acute gastrointestinal viral infections that meant me being in the emergency room two days with her and two days for myself with additional days of work missed. This was followed by a month of medication that took its toll on my system as well. Missing work also seriously crimped my already limited income and merited a write-up about attendance, despite having documentation showing the illness. The write-up has led to a persistent fear that I'll lose this little part time job that I need so badly. Fear is not a good motivator for me, but I am persistently trying to do a boring job well while looking for additional income.
Also, during this time, the gods of electrical appliances decided that I was unfit. I lost my utilities for a week -- the week of the biggest snow I've seen since childhood -- that I spent with my mother-in-law. Then my television set died. My Palm, which had been dying slowly, finally gave up its ghost. My dryer died. So did my coffee maker. Then, the hardest blow of all, the component of the computer which communicates with my DSL modem died. I also had to go without telephone for awhile.
I was virtually cut off from the world, and I had to enter the solitude in a way which my hermit self had not imagined. This was also done without the benefit of anti-depressants because of the loss of health insurance. I've really had to wonder what sort of karmic debt I've been paying and think that credit report must look as shabby as my financial one. When this much crap hits me, I do two things. I cry, and I laugh. Sometimes simultaneously. My emotions took over. They would not let me manage them. They led me, and this was just what I ended up needing. I don't know how, but in one of those easily overlooked miracles, I realized that I was finally feeling like me again. I was no longer a stranger in my skin and my mind. I was home, and I was strong. I'm honestly feeling better than I have in a few years.
I also have a lot more to say, but that will wait until I'm home tonight, after another day in the lace and pearl mines. It's good to be back.