You know those humans who bring a whole new meaning to crazy? You wonder which came first, the damage or the crazy? I'm starting to understand how easily one could give into the variety of thoughts that could quickly turn from "grieving" to "full-blown whack job."
In the aftermath of the Old Woman's death, it has been a roller coaster of sadness, tears lurking just below the surface, and bitterness and anger and annoyance. I like to think I have a pretty good handle on my feelings. I think I've demonstrated remarkable restraint in past situations of stress and unhappiness. But, still. I can see how easily you could dwell on past slights, building them up to unforgivable wrongs.
I don't think I was prepared for how isolating grief is. The humans around me clearly understand that I'm allowed tears and sadness and moments of being irrational. But, I also feel as if they couldn't possibly really, truly understand just how deep this hurt is going. I know that's silly. I know, everyone loses loved ones. I know people grieve in different ways, and that grieving takes longer than three days off from work or a month of donning black.
And, even as I tell myself that grieving now is a bit of drama, since really, we lost her a while back. But, now I think, not really . . . there were still moments when she was funny or alert or seemed to recognize something before the fog rose up again. Maybe what I'm really missing is knowing that there will never again be that moment, that flash of recognition, that second when she's the Old Woman I remember.
Grieving is to talk to yourself in circles.