Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Grief Makes You Weird
As much as I want to feel like my normal self, I don't. My dad died and I'm sad about it. February has been a month full of painful anniversaries: Dad's birthday, Mom's death and their wedding.
Grief is hard work.
Grief makes you weird.
Grief makes you fat.
Grief makes you smile to hide the fact that you don't care about anything.
Grief makes you not care that you don't care.
One day in the future, I will care again. One day, I'll be able to walk on the treadmill for more than 10 minutes at a time and stay up at night later than 8:30. I'll be able to look at myself in the mirror and think, 'maybe you're not that hideous, after all.' I will stop forgetting my name badge in the morning and having to turn around and get it, making me late for a conference call that I don't care about.
Some days, I think I'm fine until realizing I've spent the whole day feeling anxious. I'm afraid of losing someone else that I love or of dropping dead myself because, hey, I read the obituaries and lots of 54-year old women are dropping dead. Or getting fired because everyone figures out that I can't remember my name badge. Then they feel sorry for me just like I feel sorry for myself.
And I miss Dad so very much.
Perfume is my relief. I pile it on constantly, layering one on top of the other until I get it right. Or until I stop piling. For the first time, I have a stash of decants and samples at work, and sometimes - like today - I remember it when I am exhausted and just cannot fake it for another minute. As soon as the aroma meets my nose, I can relax, give my sadness a rest and catch a whiff of the good life that I know is coming. That, I care about.
image from paintings-art-pictures.com