Going through the (e)motions.

I just learned something this week. Something new about grief.

Yep, I’m still on the grief train over here…albeit in “panicked passenger” mode…desperately seeking the drink cart, woo-hoo!

And just to completely derail for a moment, I have been on many trains. We lived in Switzerland during my high school years, and my mom is from a picturesque little town in the alps, Wassen. Wassen is known for its beautiful church that sits out on the edge of a slope. It is also known for the train tunnels and tracks that wind up through the mountains, the Gotthard pass. From the town, if you look up the mountain, you will see the same train pass by 3 times. Each time a rung higher, and each time going in the opposite direction.

One Double-Tall-Cup-of-Kindness, please.

It has been a rough week. I’m finding myself in a very emotionally unstable place. Probably shouldn’t even be driving. Everything in my path just seems to be an accident waiting to happen.

It has been hard making it to (and through) work. I am distracted, forgetful, tearful, an emotional time-bomb. So today at lunch I went to Starbucks, my saving grace, to reward myself. I pulled up toward the drive-thru and there was some lady, half pulled-over, half blocking the entrance, on her phone. Net result? I couldn’t tell if she was in line. Because she was on the phone, she didn’t react to my questioning hand gestures, so when the car in front of her moved, and she didn’t, I pulled forward, around her. This didn’t go over well. Apparently she was in line.

Morning Routine

This story might be a little intimate. It’s about my morning routine. I know, seems innocent enough, but when you think about it, we are all very unique in how we wake up to the day. It feels pretty personal to admit that while I am generally an optimistic person, I am not, and never have been, a “morning person”. It takes me a while to get going – and I can’t blame this one on grief.  In fact, not everyone in my history has had the patience for my early morning persona; she’s kind of high-maintenance, and needs gentle coaxing. But those who have understood this, and have loved me despite my grouchy early morning demeanor, are gems. When I was young, my dad was always really sweet to me in the mornings. My husband too, bringing me my coffee. My dog? Not so much. She doesn’t really apply that “fine touch” when it comes to waking me up.

Hope. A glimmer.

There might be quite a few Joan Didion quotes working their way into this blog. After her husband died suddenly from heart failure (whilst their daughter was in the hospital, deathly ill) she wrote “The Year of Magical Thinking”. The title itself is one I can aspire to, as I immediately thought, how about more like, “The Year of Messed-Up Thinking”, but I will get back to the title later.

Tentacles

Oh shit, I can feel the rage coming.

See, that’s what’s so fucking annoying about grief. On the one hand, it’s completely unpredictable – you have no idea when or how it will hit, yet rest assured, even you, will be dragged through EVERY single phase of it at some point. So really, it is completely predictable in an unpredictable way. You will experience despair, you will experience confusion, you will experience numbness, you will experience pain, and you will experience anger. You WILL experience it ALL.