I’ve been collecting thoughts about grief today, writing down all the crap I’ve been through in the last two weeks. Eventually that will be a post, probably, but I need to write about today… well, today.
Losing Georgia was, and to a large degree still is, devastating. She was such a huge part of my life, every part of it every day, her loss left a huge hole. I was seriously a fucking mess for the first week. There was the whole roller coaster of emotion, my head was a pit, I could hardly get through the days.
My ongoing mantra was: It’s okay to be sad, just don’t let it control you. (I’ve had problems with alcohol and loss before, I wanted to make sure I didn’t repeat those patterns. And I haven’t.)
Gradually it got better though. And now, two weeks later, I thought I was through the worst of it.
Turns out there’s a lot more to go. That shouldn’t be surprising, but grief often is.
Today, I found myself on the verge of very publicly falling apart in the check out line at the local grocery store. Just like every other time I pulled out my wallet, I got out my club card for the discount. Well, behind that card was one for Pets ‘R Us. In my surprise, my first thought was “Well, I guess I don’t need to carry that around any more.” My second thought was absolute horror over the cavalier first thought and all the sudden the dam was breaking down. Everything dredged up in an instant. In public. Trying not to look back at the team of firefighters behind me, or the cashier, because they’d see my eyes welling up.
I managed to make it to the car before breaking down in tears. I’ve gotten used to crying in the car over the last two weeks.
When I got home, still shaken, I checked the mail. Inside was a reminder from the Vet that I needed to schedule a check up. No shit. I had the pleasure of calling the Vet and explaining to her why she should take me off her mailing list. To say that I struggled with my voice would be an understatement. She was very polite but that’s not a fun conversation to have.
And now I’m home alone, feeling very vulnerable all the sudden. In a lot of ways grief is like an injury, a mental and emotional pain that’s very real. For the first week I felt like I was constantly on the verge of falling apart, like I was mortally wounded and stumbling through. I felt like someone had ripped out my guts, my entrails were dangling, I was just a zombie, and it was a constant surprise that no one else could see the massive injury. It felt like I’d been disemboweled but that was all internal. Even today, when I thought everything was scabbed over and well on it’s way to healing I get reminded how fragile I still am.
It’s a process, I know. And not a short one. But writing is also how I process.
For any of you worried, I did find a good therapist. I’m not spiraling or doing anything too stupid. I’m just processing. And I’m sad. I’m really, really sad. But that’s okay, that’s understandable, just don’t let it control me. And I think I’m managing that pretty well so far, all things considered.