I am in the midst of what appears to be an off week. Things aren’t bad, I just feel disengaged. But as far as things go, it could be much worse.
Dad’s death, news of this new job, revelations about my current job, and the condolences of everyone my parents and I know have become felted together. My delusions of knowledge of the source of my feelings is gone. All that’s left is me in this moment.
I still exist in mourning. When my uncle died in August I gave myself a finite (and incredibly short) amount of time to mourn publicly. I had learned from last April when my granddad died that if I did not have a plan, my grief would stretch out and take up residence. Once my grief for my granddad opened, I couldn’t close it. I found that I felt callous moving on even though I knew that moving on was the only option. So I learned, and have been learning how grief looks for me.
That first night, just after I first heard about Dad, I spent what may have been an hour trying to catch my breath. Then I began to prepare for what might come next. For the most part I’ve been living my grief in moments that startle me into attention. I have continued to wear all black, and plan to until Dad’s memorial in 9 days, making it 29 days in total. This seems like a sensible amount of time to me.
During this time I excuse a variety of my own behavior I would otherwise try to circumvent. When I publicly mourned after my uncle’s death, I cried at work several times and didn’t leave the apartment all weekend. This time, I have allowed myself to be whoever I need to be to get through the day. It feels radical to allow myself to be whoever I am and to sit in the knowledge that who I am constantly changes. It feels like yet another gift born of these difficult circumstances to be able to so thoroughly accept myself.