Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
What helps
For me, anyway.
First few days: talking to people, anyone who would listen, but I tried (mostly) to pick on close friends and family.
After that: getting back to work right away, staying busy, filling the hours with chores or movies or whatever just to make sure the time passed. Sitting in my bedroom doing nothing (or next to nothing, like watching TV) was pretty awful. I didn’t do much of that. (And even as I’m writing this, I’m looking forward to getting the hell out of here.)
Last night, I think, was the first time I worried about the medication. I’m on something to help me sleep, but it’s an antidepressant, too. Is it numbing me up? Will there be an emotional price to pay once I get off the stuff? Before this all happened, I had mastered my insomnia and could get to sleep, stay asleep, and manage about six hours a night without any medication. I’d like to get back to that, eventually, but I’m afraid of that overwhelming grief I felt in those first few days.
We had our building’s Christmas party last night. During the White Elephant gift exchange, I had too hard a time hearing the ticket numbers (I’d explain, but it’s probably not worth it). So I volunteered to call them out, since I can project my voice fairly well. And while I’m up there calling numbers I’m flashing on Camus’s The Stranger, and how the jury convicted the narrator not because he shot the man on the beach, but because he did not grieve properly after his mother’s death. Yeah, yeah, more guilt. I’ve lost track . . . but the worst thing (which varies from day to day — what I consider “the worst thing”) is that a few days before she died, Karen asked me about vacation time, and couldn’t we go back to our house in Oregon and stay there for a week? I squashed the idea, and it seemed like her feelings were hurt. She didn’t get angry. She just seemed so sad for a minute or two, but then she seemed to get over it. I thought she was sad because my tone of voice was annoyed-verging-on-angry, but I’m wondering if maybe she was looking for something to live for. Did she know this was coming, somehow?
Okay, not feeling numb any longer. Not sure writing all of THAT helped. (Folks keep saying that it helps to write these things out. Hmm.)
I think I’m experiencing those Kubler-Ross stages simultaneously. There’s denial and depression and acceptance all rolled up inside of me. Yeah, I know it’s contradictory — how can you be in denial and acceptance at the same time? But it all varies so much from moment to moment.
As for Karen knowing: I’m sure she would scoff at this. She was not one to believe in the paranormal, and I don’t think she did anything to contribute to this. So how could she have known? No. She, like I, didn’t realize how serious this was. By the time I realized, it was too late.
Okay, I need to get out of here and start doing my chores for the day. You don’t want to know how long my to-do list is.
D.
