I posted this on my Facebook page yesterday:
It seemed to hit a nerve with people who completely understand what I’m going through. Right now, I wouldn’t wish this ever-present wave of nausea on anyone. That’s what grief consists of for me. One second, I’m my usual happy-go-lucky self and the next I feel a crushing amount of angst in my gut.
Grief makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong—that feeling you get when your stomach is in knots. Pepto-Bismol doesn’t help. Xanax doesn’t help. The only thing that makes me not feel like throwing up is being horizontal. Weird, right? Too bad staying in bed all day for the next three years isn’t an option right now. That’s called depression and it’s a completely different beast.
I’ve read up on what grief can do to your psyche. It works in mysterious ways. But whoever wrote about the “stages” people go through in the grieving process obviously hasn’t experienced them all at once—in meltdown mode over unwritten thank you cards. If Bounty is the “quicker picker upper”, my grief seems to be the “down and outer pouter.”
Whatever the case, I seem to be in the thick of it right now. Self-care and being smothered by my friends seems to be a solid outlet so I’m going to continue down that path. In the interim though, I needed to put my words out in to the universe to remind myself (and anyone in the same boat) that eventually it won’t be this bad. Or dramatic. Or overwhelming.
And here’s the other thing—there’s no rhyme or reason behind grief’s rationale (or lack thereof). Yesterday, Dad’s hospice sent me a nice letter wondering if I could fill out a survey to let them know if they could have done better during his final days. I filled that sucker out without batting nary one tear-stained eyelash. In fact, I was happy to do it.
A year from now, I’ll look back on this post and shake my head. Sure, I’ll still feel a twinge of guilt over still not sending thank you cards, but that’s simply because I’m my mother’s kid. Meanwhile, I’ll keep the cards for posterity. And because she’d be way more pissed that I spent perfectly good money on them and then threw them away.