Gloomy Sunday

Slow moving - slow thinking day - restless.  No matter what I'm doing, I want to be doing something else - anything else.

Nights are awful - the thought of the lights going out makes me cry.  I don't know what's coming, but I know something is coming.  I try to fill my head with positive images - thoughts of my grandchildren - remembering concerts that I loved - images of the ocean - anything that might work.

Saturday distractions

It's been a tough week.  It started on the 4th and I can't seem to get past it.  I'm trying.  Really trying.

I think I mentioned before (today the fog has set in and I'm not sure what I mentioned - when - or if) that there is delicate balance between grieving and my health.  Too much grief causes increased health problems.  The changes can be permanent.

How do you manage grief?  I don't know, but I try.

Memories of my grandmother

My mother died on September 19, 1985.  She was just sixty years old - the oldest daughter, the second oldest child of four children (three daughters and one son) born to Josephine K. (Gramma Jo to me)

Gramma Jo was eighty-four years old when my mother died - and in excellent health.  She died in October, 1986 from a heart attack - just about a year after my mother died.

5 things I've learned

I have learned:

1.  That lack of sleep is my enemy.  It steals perspective and makes me unable to think clearly (which is a problem now, even with a good night's sleep).

2.  That seeing a red Silverado truck with a ladder rack makes me cry.

Three months

Three months today since Greg died.
It feels like a minute.
It feels like forever.
It doesn't feel like three months.

I can feel the date markers before they get here.  The anticipation of the date marker is almost as bad as the date itself.  This month is worse than last month.  I pray that's not a trend.

Monday meltdown

Busy day yesterday - no time to write until last night- and by evening I could barely think, let alone write.  I had a meltdown that was more physical than emotional.  I don't even know how to describe it.  I wasn't entirely present for most of the evening.

I could see and hear the television, but I remember very little of what was on.  I could hear Michael talking to me, but I couldn't understand the words.  It was frightening.  I thought I was headed for the hospital and remember telling Michael that I was afraid that if I went to the hospital, I wouldn't get out. 

Fix You

And again... old songs take on new meanings - and when I heard this one today, my heart broke all over again.