I cannot emphasize enough that grief is a physical ailment. It is not a mere sadness to be endured. It weighs a person down, sucking life’s energy out of a body.
Five months have passed since my wife Janet’s death from cancer. I have not secluded myself, nor have I kept my feelings to myself. Intellectually, I am fighting grief on every front. But no matter how much I smile and say, “Great” when someone asks me how I’m doing, I am not great. No matter how busy I keep myself the grief still drags me down.
Here in the last two weeks of June, I have decided to go on an emotional vacation. I don’t have any major activities until after July 1st, and so I’m just not going to try to get out—unless good friends and food are involved—and the laundry will just have to stay in the basket a while. I’m writing a bit, binging on television shows and taking as many naps as I want to. I will survive the nightmares that generally accompany that all-encompassing fatigue. I have a rapid eye movement (REM) sleep disorder which is exacerbated by stress.
Hopefully by Independence Day I will be liberated by this lethargy that fogs my mind and slows my body down as though it were slogging through waist-high molasses. I know I am not alone. Both my children have been wonderful. I have a load full of friends to make sure I get distracted by bright shiny objects.
On Father’s Day my son took me to a nice restaurant to celebrate. As I looked down at the pavement when I got out of the car I saw a penny directly under the door. I’ve been told to look for pennies from heaven. So I know Janet is with me too.
It will take time and patience, but the stress, grief and fatigue will ebb away. That’s okay. Right now I don’t have anything else to do.