Crash. That's about it really. Or as they say in grief group...a grief spike. Yay. I feel like I am back at the beginning again. How is that possible? I couldn't stop crying today. I cried around the house, I went and sat in the shop and cried, I put my ring back on and cried, then I took it off again and cried. Every time I spoke to anyone I cried. Everything overwhelmed me, getting gas, getting the truck inspected, shopping at the market. I hate this house, I love this house. God. Help. Me.
Maybe I am working up to September 2, his birthday. Or the 7th, the six month anniversary of his death. It does seem to work that way. As if preparing myself for a big day will someone make it easier. My old belief system at work. If I can just be really really well prepared I can handle anything. As some of my friends like to say, "how's that working for you?" Not too well.
Several times this week I could've sworn I saw him walking toward me, getting in a car. That hadn't happened to me yet, I thought maybe it wouldn't, but it did. What a strange and heart-wrenching feeling.
Just keep breathing. It's just a wave coming in. In the way of waves, it will go out again. Leaving new smooth sand in it's wake. I can do this.
Afterlife
ReplyDeleteby Bruce Snider
I wake to leafless vines and muddy fields,
patches of standing water. His pocketknife
waits in my dresser drawer, still able to gut fish.
I pick up his green shirt, put it on for the fourth day
in a row. Outside, the rusty nail he hammered
catches me, leaves its stain on everything.
The temperature drops, the whole shore
filling with him: his dented chew can, waders,
the cattails kinked, bowing their distress.
At the pier, I use his old pliers to ready the line:
fatheads, darters, a blood worm jig. Today, the lake’s
one truth is hardness. When the trout bite,
I pull the serviceable things glistening into air.
xo, K
I am going to try leaving a post here; I'm not on my regular computer, so we'll see if it takes.
ReplyDeleteAnyway....I wish I had something profound or comforting to say. Aaack. Your grief spike sounds "normal," but I doubt that makes it much easier to bear. I do love the wave analogy.
xoxoxo,
Babs