Talk Without Speaking

I can’t seem to get a handle on weekends. Sure, there were definite blips and utter down moments last week but, overall, during the week, things seemed to be better. This weekend though….

Catherine says I’m crying in my sleep which seems disturbing to me or should I be grateful that it’s happening when I’m not aware of it? The link from unconscious to conscious is pretty direct though; there’s obviously a part of me that carries whatever is going on at night into the day and my mood and the ability to function really gets affected.

Even in the days immediately after Dad’s death we would have all agreed that the worst moments were when you actually had to tell someone. Telling my youngest brother. Calling my Dad’s best friend in Glasgow. Those were hands down the utter worst moments for me. The carry over from that, almost four months later, is talking to or dealing with people who I haven’t seen much since he died. It’s a complete no-win situation.

If you’re reading this and you know me then it very likely doesn’t apply to you. Coming into contact with acquaintance level people who I don’t see very often is horrifically difficult for me. Mention my father and you are mentioning him in a context that I can’t control; you are risking talking about it when I have no strength to deal with the memories. Don’t mention my father and you risk me thinking that you don’t care or don’t remember that I am being defined by grief right now. You can’t win and I’m sorry for that. It’s not your fault.

Jen, the temp from Oz, had her last day last week and her parting gift to me was a Serenity keychain. I keep it on my desk and gaze at it from time to time and try to follow its advice.