There was a dental appointment this morning which was A) expensive and B) not terribly comfortable, and I'm not sure which aspect of that reduced me to tears, but there we were. I suspect it really started when the dentist asked how my holidays were and I actually had to respond. Here was someone else who didn't know that my mother had passed away during Thanksgiving week, and I dug that pain out again to look at it and it more or less exploded on me. I thought I was further along in the healing process, but I guess I was wrong again.
I started my little job at the mall this week, and almost every day someone would comment on my beautiful scarves, all of which I snitched from Mom's apartment while I was in the process of cleaning it out. Or they liked the necklace and matching bracelet which she had worn to my wedding. And, of course, I've been wearing my pink yeti bathrobe which was the last present she had actually picked out for me. The signs of mourning have been everywhere, but I've been too slow to read them. I'm trying to give myself an impossible hug, and it's just not working.
The antidote (if there is one, which I absolutely doubt) is to get busy. The dishwasher is humming, the dryer is clicking away, and I'm about to start vacuuming. It's important to make a visible difference so I can preserve the illusion of functionality. The truth is I'm feeling small and sad and winter lonely. Maybe I'll write a poem today. Or finish the thank you notes from Mother's funeral, which have been haunting my "to do" list for the past two months because I haven't been able to face them. And somewhere this afternoon I am hoping for a walk, a nap, and a cup of cocoa in no particular order.
I started my little job at the mall this week, and almost every day someone would comment on my beautiful scarves, all of which I snitched from Mom's apartment while I was in the process of cleaning it out. Or they liked the necklace and matching bracelet which she had worn to my wedding. And, of course, I've been wearing my pink yeti bathrobe which was the last present she had actually picked out for me. The signs of mourning have been everywhere, but I've been too slow to read them. I'm trying to give myself an impossible hug, and it's just not working.
The antidote (if there is one, which I absolutely doubt) is to get busy. The dishwasher is humming, the dryer is clicking away, and I'm about to start vacuuming. It's important to make a visible difference so I can preserve the illusion of functionality. The truth is I'm feeling small and sad and winter lonely. Maybe I'll write a poem today. Or finish the thank you notes from Mother's funeral, which have been haunting my "to do" list for the past two months because I haven't been able to face them. And somewhere this afternoon I am hoping for a walk, a nap, and a cup of cocoa in no particular order.
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