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The Selfishness of My Grief

 I remember when Mrs. Patmore said this.  And it has played on repeat in my head for a week now.


And I remember Daisy innocently asking "did it make you feel better?" And I can't remember what Mrs. Patmore's response was.  My guess is, she probably doesn't remember, but at the time, it was good enough.

For a week now, I can't eat or sleep enough.  At first I was trying to stay medicated just to "get through it" until I realized it was making me feel scared and thoroughly paranoid.  A dear friend recommended I stay sober (at least through the funeral in 2 weeks) and another recommended I at least examine why I wanted to stay under the influence.  All of it good advice. 

And everything, ISTG, everything has taken a Herculean effort.  Getting out of bed, thinking about dressing, actually dressing and Jesus H putting on makeup.  And don't get me started on driving. Nearly 1 week away from work, and I'm at least trying to show up for that.

I just about shook a pharmacist out of his white jacket this week and I felt absolutely justified in doing it. If there were other justifiable options for complete "Karen" breakdowns, I'd take them. 

I'm 51 years-old so obviously this is not my first loss.  But it does feel like the first of this gravity.  It does feel like a harbinger of the future, of weights so heavy I can't even fathom them yet.  It feels like a needle-point view of my own mortality, failings and an excruciating fast-ticking clock.

I'm sad for her.  For her people.  I'm sad for me.  I'm sad for our past.  What we had, what we didn't.  I'm sad for what she never got to be.  

I also have this constant awful, awful feeling of this: did I ever really know her?  It's the worst question of all because it can't be fixed now.  And if I didn't, why didn't I?  

Every day is a study in safety.....what not to listen to, what not to watch, what not to open my mind to.  But of course some of it creeps in and tackles you like a ridiculously large tidal wave for which you had no life raft ready.  

And it's not like depression.  No, it's not that.  I've cried over men.  Broken relationships.  Missing my child.  Disappointments.  This is not that.  Those felt like a a mountain I had to climb and finally hurl myself over in order to feel better.  This feels like a door that has now come open and will open wider and wider with time if I'm lucky to live long enough.  What's on the other side may get scarier or may get less so.....who's to say?

I feel raw and tender, scared and stupid, without a tether, without a compass.  Every day is a performance, every smile is a plaster, every day is just getting through and hoping I don't melt into a puddle.  At least not in front of anyone.  

I keep thinking......if we get to look back and miss someone.....if we get to face the grief.....then we must be the lucky ones.  We made it.  Whatever IT was.  We survived it.  It will get us one day.  We will succumb to IT one day.  But not today.  Yes.....I suppose we're lucky.

And to even think about all this to even cry or moan or complain feels like the most selfish act of all.  She's gone.  Not us.  Her life was shortened, not ours.  Her pain has ended and our tears are nothing compared to what she endured.  

I will say that I don't remember a time when friends comforted, checked on and provided me with more tenderness.  And that has been a gift I haven't known what to do with but have appreciated.  

I'm not at the point yet where I want to reminisce, laugh and chat about fond memories or even be around the people I can share that with.  A little selfish, I know.  The older I get the stronger my armor of self-protection absolutely must be for me and for them.  

And I think that's why I have to be over in this space by myself right now.  To eat and sleep alone, to cry when I'd like and to feel everything I can't and don't want to feel communally.  Even if Mrs. Patmore was here I'd have to take her basket of bread, tell her thanks and goodbye and close the door gently.

(Rest in peace, in beauty and in serenity to my friend Kelly Marie Herndon Short.  Thank you for loving me, supporting me and giving me more than I ever deserved.)
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