The winter weather is getting to me.
I only went out of my apartment three days last week.
I feel extremely fortunate that I was able to work from home on those other days, but at the same time I know it was a poor decision to stay cooped up in indoors so many days in a row.
I have been struggling mightily. After going quite a while without one, I have had three crying spells in the last nine days. I know that's not very often compared to the people whose grief is new. But I was honestly beginning to feel like I was getting past the gut-wrenching tears stage, so this feels like a real backslide. I am embarrassed to still be crying like this after this many years. Even though I would never say this to anyone else about their grief, I feel like mine being so stretched out is a sign of my essential brokenness.
I fear my whole life is being defined by grief. By what I lost. By what I don't have. By what I only had for a short time before illness took her from me. By all the years of estrangement from my mom that I still blame myself for, even though my reasons at the time made sense.
In recent days my heart has been feeling very tender. Triggers I used to be able to brush off are cutting more deeply all of a sudden. A casual word. A song on the radio. A scene from a movie. Glimpsing my face in a mirror.
People talk a lot about their immune systems during cold and flu season. I wonder if there is an emotional immune system, and I have depleted it by shutting myself up in my apartment during this string of cold and stormy days.
No sunshine. No in-person interaction. A sameness of days. Lots of time to think. Less activity, more sleep. Dreams of mom and other relatives long gone.
I just don't do well at this time of year.
Welcome, fellow travelers on the grief journey
and a special welcome to anyone new to The Grieving Room.
We meet every Monday evening.
Whether your loss is recent, or many years ago;
whether you've lost a person, or a pet;
or even if the person you're "mourning" is still alive,
("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time),
you can come to this diary and say whatever you need to say.
We can't solve each other's problems,
but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
Unlike a private journal
here, you know: your words are read by people who
have been through their own hell.
There's no need to pretty it up or tone it down..
It just is.