It’s been a good week so far – there has been a whisper of normal in the air. So, of course, I am thinking about the losses in my life and wondering how many good years (or is it weeks?) I have left. Just one of my regular days. I was doing my normal weekday musing, sandwiched in between the last pedicure of the year (I chose Ballet Slippers as my color, but I think it’s too light) and doing the laundry (today it was towels and rags).
I’m perfectly happy contemplating my losses; they keep me company. I assume, if you are anywhere near my age, you do the same thing. If not, please don’t tell me. In our world of alternative facts, I am allowed to pretend to be normal.
I understand how grief operates – you lose something or someone of value and you have feelings - lots of crummy feelings- that the professionals lump together into a 'process' they call grief.
So, this is my conclusion about grief. It isn’t the sadness or the anger or the emptiness of loss that is the worst. Sure, all that is terrible, but most of it softens and some of it fades. The absolute worst? It’s the permanence!! It’s when you realize, really, really believe that there is no going back, no return to whatever used to be.
I remember about nine months after my mother died, I woke up and thought, “Well, I’ve grieved and cried and been brave and responsible. I’ve done this grief thing quite competently. And now I want her back!!” And then it dawned on me that she was not coming back, no matter how responsibly I behaved. None of my losses were going to be reversed. They were permanent and, like it or not, I was in a new reality.
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