Jumbled

Just give me one thing that I can hold on to. To believe in this livin' is just a hard way to go.

-John Prine

I feel quite trapped in my grief. There isn’t anywhere for me to be or anything pressing for me to do until the New Year, so I find myself quite isolated. Lockdowns and my own fear of getting the virus keep me mostly in the home, and having my family far limits contact.

Am I numb? Sometimes I feel like I’m not behaving appropriately, but I suppose there’s no right way to do this. Its one of those paths we must walk somewhat alone, even if our most fervent wish is not to.

 I do cry. Weep, even. I sit in silence, staring here and there. I tell her good morning and good night, that I love her, miss her, and want her.

 But things just don’t seem to make sense anymore. Like I had a partially finished jigsaw puzzle, and someone stole a bunch of pieces one night, and now I’ll never really know what the final picture was supposed to be. Everything just seems gray and jagged. I’m surprised when a day passes and I find myself showered, fed, and back in bed.

 It’s been two weeks and in some ways it feels like yesterday. My world stopped spinning and no one really noticed. And that’s okay. I don’t necessarily expect them to.