Grief Interrupters

The other day I walked into the garage because I had an appointment. As the garage door was going up, water was dripping from it. There was water on the floor and a strange hissing sound that I couldn’t place. As I walked around the car, I saw water spraying out of two holes in the bottom of the water heater. It took my brain a minute or two to put the picture together because this is not what usually happens. This is what grief is like. My brain could not make sense of the new reality that the people I loved were no longer in my world. It takes time for the brain to rewrite a new story about this new reality. *

In the aftermath of my mom and dad’s death six months apart, the first month was challenging as the anxiety and sorrow were all-consuming. Trying to think straight was a monumental task, and getting anything done took great effort. Mom preceded dad, so I could still talk to him daily. I was mourning mom and trying to be a comfort to my dad at the same time. Then, when dad died in July, my world came crashing down. Not only did I watch my dad die, but he was the last link to the two people who’ve known me my whole life.

The first thing that interrupted my grief on August 23^rd was developing Covid a month after my dad died. At first, I thought it was just the residual effects of the flu shot I got a few days before, but I was feeling horrible by Monday night. After two negative tests on Monday, Tuesday was positive. I’d managed not to catch it once since the outbreak in 2020. Although I was fully vaccinated and wore masks in public, I’m sure that the stress of this summer made me vulnerable to getting so sick. The only good thing about being so ill was that I had no energy to grieve. It took all my strength just to fight to feel better. The anxiety went on a hiatus. For two weeks, all I could do was rest, drink a lot of fluids, and watch tv. I knew the grief would await the other side once I recovered.

This past week, I was finally able to resume tutoring. This also provides a respite from grief. During the time that I am with my students, I find moments of joy. I’m able to do what I love and do well. I’ve worked with many of my students for some time, and they are genuinely a delight to work with.

By Friday, I was totally worn down, and the blanket of grief had wrapped itself around me and weighed me down. I reached out to friends, but all the phones went to voicemail. I don’t expect people to always be there because I know they have their own lives. But, unfortunately, that’s when the most profound ache of loneliness sets in. The people I would have turned to are no longer alive, and the glaring echo of loss rocks me to my core. After having a long, ugly cry, I made myself some dinner. Fortunately, a friend called and gave me the space to share my grief.

After the call, I decided to go to an event the next day to make affirmation cards for children who have suffered from trauma. I saw the event listed on Instagram over the past week. I knew that not only would it be doing something good for someone else, but it would be good for my soul. I spent three hours being creative, which allowed me to lose myself in the moment. I also got to see some friends I know and meet new people. It was a healing experience that will hopefully help someone else who is suffering as well.

Grief is a lifelong journey, but those moments of respite help me keep moving forward.

*The Grieving Brain by Mary-Frances O’Connor, Ph.D. is an interesting book on understanding how the brain deals with death, grief, and grieving. I’m listening to the audiobook because it’s too much for my grieving brain to read. It’s been very insightful.