It’s like radiation, isn’t it? It starts with a big bang, and then all is quiet. And then in the deadly silence the grief spreads, reaching tentacles out through your life and your time. It grows inside you. You ignore it because life goes on, right? And there are children to feed and take to activities and school, and there is laundry, oh that precious, visible, tangible laundry that you normally loathe but now it gives you something soothing to do.
Yes, the grief, it’s affecting me.
In the days and weeks that followed Lisa’s death, I suffered obvious side effects, like a raging fever that lasted three days, spontaneous crying, and loss of appetite. But there were other things.
I took Kyle to the doctor’s office, parked the car, and walked into the building. But I left the car running.
I ignored our bank account and allowed it to go dry. When I went to get cash, there were insufficient funds.
I ignore party invitations.
I am continuously purging my house of extra things. I moved furniture around. My office space now looks like a scene from Hoarders. But I am tired of doing it, and I don’t care anymore.
I don’t care anymore.
But then suddenly I care very much, and very fiercely, and I’m caught in a tailspin, and everything is just too much.
And then I need a nap.
And Lisa is in everything. She was with me when I bought that sweater, when I gave birth to my children. She is in the picture that flashes on my screen saver. I am burning a candle that I took from her house.
The reminders make me sad and happy and I don’t want to let them go. I don’t want to let her go.
What is the half-life of a memory? How long will the residue of grief make me ill like this?
It’s been four weeks already. How? Donations to Lisa’s Team in Training fundraiser have reached more than $15,000 at the time I am writing this.
I knew Lisa for a very small amount of time, but like you, I’m still experiencing waves of grief. The other day while driving through Beverly Hills, I passed by The Doctors of USC building on Wilshire and burst into tears – the name had that kind of effect on me.
There are days where I’d love to fast-forward into the new year, just to put distance between last month and the present. Time is a bitch (for lack of a better word) right now, and I can’t wait for these grieving steps to stop popping up.
I dyed my hair blonde right after my mother died. It works much better on you. I looked like a refuge from the Ukraine who had just come into a small pot of money.
I know that old saying “Time heals all wounds,” is such a cliche, but it IS true, although with the healing comes the scar. It does get better sweetie.
Take down the disappearing hair and put up the blonde bomb!
Sending you a big squishy hug.
Oh Kim, this was so beautifully written. Seriously – just beautiful. And raw. And wow. And I know just how you feel. But oh how I wish I didn’t. My sister-in-law died 2 1/2 years ago and it still stings. Not like it used to. I’m no longer numb. But I still miss her every day. You will miss Lisa every day. But the numbness will go away. And laundry will once again become loathsome. Until then my thoughts are with you.
(And BTW – I like the blonde. It suits you.)
Hugs Kim. There are no answers as to how long… likely when you think you are past it, a wave may come. Time will lesten the intensity of the pain but this will be a part of you always.