Grief Notes

Life goes on, looking on the outside much the same as before.  I do the bare minimum of what has to be done, and I smile and laugh and talk to people as needed, although I do not seek them out.  I still think about Ruth a lot, although of course I always did.  But unlike before when my thoughts of her were always fraught with worry, my thoughts now are always prefaced with the knowledge that she is dead and that past mistakes can’t be rectified and that a multitude of hopes and dreams can’t be fulfilled.  During the day, aside from fatigue, a certain dullness and an inability to remember what I might enjoy doing or eating or planning, I am okay.  The worst are the occasional dreams where, just as in real life that last week, I can’t reach her, but in the dream I have the unstated knowledge of what that will mean, and I wake up in a panic.  My only daughter, my babiest child.  Over the years I have led dozens of grief groups and counseled dozens of grieving people so none of this is a surprise, and it is no worse than I expected, but it is different than I thought I knew.  It is different because it is me, and there is no going home after the session is over.  Ruthless.

I have done a little sewing, out of duty rather than pleasure.  I am cooking some, just as little and likewise without any real enjoyment.  My sister wants to take a road trip with me to Dollywood in Tennessee, of all places, which makes me wonder whether she knows me at all.  Still, I am telling myself to go because I rarely have time with my sister, and it is as good a plan as any to try to shake me loose inside as I wait for this stage of grief to pass.