I should have expected it would happen, but when the melancholy set in–took me over, left me drowning and gasping for comfort–I was stunned. Knocked on my ass. It’s only been a handful of hours since I’ve returned to my real life, and the week between Christmas and New Year is always a ghostly, fleeting time, so maybe I shouldn’t feel as weak as I do for letting the thoughts play on an endless loop of “Why didn’t you…?” and “Maybe I should…”
It comes fast and loose once my head hits the pillow. ”Why didn’t you spend more time with her?” ”How could you not have realized she was that sick?” “I miss her. I miss daddy and P. even more.” ”I hate LA, this fake, false, bright, plastic toy of a town.” ”Maybe I should move back home to be with my family.” ”Could I really be happy in Dallas?”
I recognize the depression cocooning me seductively, whispering promises of false peace. How can I write–how can I care–about mascara and conditioner? I open my website, stare at the screen. Close it. Visit Facebook, listlessly clicking for seconds before closing that, too. I want to write, but the writer’s block…oh, yes, it is strong with this one.
D. and I went to see Marley and Me tonight, and on the drive home, she suggested I write something, anything, even if I didn’t feel like it. It feels good to have the juices flowing ever so slightly. Maybe tomorrow I can make further progress; clear this fog. Intellectually, I recognize this feeling will not last forever. I will laugh, play, love; I will have the desire and drive to write something that’s not utterly indulgent or self-pitying. But for now, it’s baby steps. One word, one day, at a time.
It’s hard to know what to say without sounding trite – but this is all so new to you … uncharted territory. So just give yourself some time. Don’t worry about having to drum up some new superlatives about mascara and lip gloss – the “next big thing” will always be just around the corner, ready for you to put your words to *virtual* paper, when you’re ready! Be kind to yourself right now …
{{{warm hugs}}}
You don’t know me and this may sound like a stupids suggestion, but talk to your mom. Especially when your head hits the pillow. I firmly believe that she is there with you. They say that when the thought of someone pops into your head, it means that the person is with you. Talk to her. Tell her everything that you think you forgot to tell her. Write her letters. It really does help you to feel closer to her. Eventually it will come naturally to you. Your relationship will evolve.
“the week between Christmas and New Year is always a ghostly, fleeting time”
Nadine, this hit me so hard! How true is that…it always feels so strange and hazy. Thanks for writing the PERFECT sentence to describe it…
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
They say that the worst time is after the funeral, when all the decisions that have to be made right away are over with and everyone has gone home and back into their lives. The grieving family is left hanging at that point, and almost expected to pick up and move on. I had read that somewhere after my father passed and I was looking online for info on grief in order to plan ahead and figure out how to help my mom cope. What I did not expect was that it would hit me too, even though I was more prepared. It took me several months before I felt comfortable being social again, and not think that people would either want me to talk about it or expect me to and not want me to. I found it helpful to just pamper myself and allow myself to feel what I was going to feel. I am a little bit of an introvert anyway so I spent alot of time at home reading and losing myself in TV, but also with my family just hanging out.
I guess my point is to be gentle with yourself and not beat yourself up for anything you feel or do. Each of us grieves in our own way. Take care of yourself!
Just remember that you have so much to look forward to…your new book, your family, your friends. Find goodness in all things.
Glad, you’re back, Nadine. It will take some time to heal.
One sentence at a time.
Nadine, I’m thinking of you. I know you’ll be back to your sunny, verbose self soon :) I hope 2009 brings you peace, relief, and happiness.
I’d say wait. I went through the same thing when my grandmother died, and almost up and moved back ‘home’ out of grief, but ultimately made the right choice (for me) and stayed. Any major life decisions you make now will be partly out of grief, so be patient if you can. LA is a hard place to find meaning, but it will come — if not, you can still move then. My thoughts are with you.
Claire, that’s gorgeous. I love it. Thank you.
Oh Nadine. I’m so sorry. And Claire, thank you– Nadine’s right, a gorgeous poem.
Thinking of you, Erika
dear nadine,
remember some posts ago when i wrote about my dad battling terminal cancer? well, after a long, hard struggle, God took him home two days ago. i completely feel for you as i am now grappling with my own grief. my dad was an amazingly strong, loving man that prized his family above everything. i miss him so much and the pain hits me in sudden waves when i least expect it. i dread his funereal proceedings because it will unleash another level of pain.
your thoughts and heartfelt posts give me encouragement – they remind me that i’m not alone in this kind of situation. stay strong. we’ll get through this..
thinking of you,
jousy
baby steps…. baby steps … Love you!
Nadine, if there is ever a time in your life where you are more than permitted to be “indulgent or self-pitying,” I would hazard a guess to say this is one of those times. Take all the time you need to grieve and begin healing. No one will begrudge your lack of desire to write about mascara and conditioner when you are experiencing something as all-encompassing as the loss of a parent.
Though most of us have never met you, we grieve with you and I pray for you and your family and the day you will once again be able to laugh and feel genuine joy.
hugs from singapore
It was written by Mary Elizabeth Frye, and I’ve heard it sung by choirs before. It’s beautiful.