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Grief Sucks, Day 2

Real sleep Saturday night came as a welcome relief. The big challenge of the noonish morning was getting dressed. I was all about comfort clothes today, but the more I looked in my closet and drawers for a comfort top, the more my heart and mind kept telling me that I haven't any comfort clothes that are up to this.

I ended up pulling a shirt in need of washing out of the roller bag that still needs to be unpacked before I turn around and pack it for this week's trip to Michigan. It was the shirt I wore Wednesday while Sue and I packed her Yukon with antique furniture and photos from Daddy's house, and I packed my car with the belongings I'd brought with me and the many Fitzgerald treasures that came home with me. More importantly, I was still wearing the shirt when I went up for my middle-of-the-night last long visit with Daddy. I'd meant for it to be a couple of hours, but it ended up being more like five. He was having a rough night of it and I helped calm, comfort, and care for him while also doing some much-needed client work. I continue to be extraordinarily grateful for wifi access in health care settings.

So. Yeah. The shirt. I'm still wearing it, so I guess it worked.

LJ and G+ comments, and the email messages of condolence and sympathy provided much more comfort than the shirt did. Likewise Gavi and Fred's presence. Many thanks to all of you for those.

Hurricane Irene didn't provide as much distraction as I hoped she would. It turns out I slept through the hardest rain and wind and I spent the afternoon waiting for the peak that turned out to be only a forecast rather than the reality.

The longer the day's gone on, the more like moving through molasses everything feels. I'm already getting impatient with myself, which is utterly ridiculous under the circumstances. Eating is going reasonably well; much better than the first 48 hours during some of my previous times of grief. I need to remember to keep the liquids flowing. I'm only halfway through my second Diet Coke of the day and I think I started the first one last night before I went to bed. There was coffee, but I didn't drink as much water as yesterday.

Various things that needed accomplishing got accomplished. Other things I would have liked to have made some progress on didn't get any time from me at all. But I survived the day and that is a Good Thing. Many thanks to all of you for helping make that possible, for helping ease my own way through it.


( 16 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 29th, 2011 10:24 am (UTC)
Sometimes the little things help. Keep hanging in there.
Aug. 29th, 2011 11:38 am (UTC)
Hang in there.

Also, diet coke and coffee and tea do count as hydration (many people have been told that caffeinated beverages don't count), as does the water you get in food, to the extent you're eating.
Aug. 29th, 2011 11:38 am (UTC)
It is extraordinarily difficult to get through. Just take one moment at a time and let people take care of you with food and water.

all my love,
Aug. 29th, 2011 12:20 pm (UTC)
There is a lot of "one step after another" at times like this. I was on auto-pilot for awhile after my dad died. Part of it was exhaustion (physical and emotional) after two months of waiting day to day and the several days of hour to hour. Rest, food and some routine will help.
Aug. 29th, 2011 01:29 pm (UTC)
Yeah, grief sucks big time. Hang in there and be as kind to yourself as you can.
Aug. 29th, 2011 04:12 pm (UTC)
I wish I lived nearer.
Aug. 29th, 2011 05:49 pm (UTC)
I'm so sorry for your loss. Some days ahead of you will be bad, some will be better, but you're in our thoughts. Take care of yourself, get rest as you can.
Aug. 29th, 2011 09:24 pm (UTC)
So sorry for your loss. *hugs*
Aug. 29th, 2011 10:08 pm (UTC)
Grief sucks so much, like a nasty virus. Oh, well, you think, seven days, or a month, or six, or a year, then things will be better; but it's recurrent, like malaria. At least you don't have ague.

Aug. 29th, 2011 10:23 pm (UTC)

All you can do is take things one day at a time. I know how you feel re: Irene. For me, the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake was a blessing because it put everyone else into the same frazzled state *I* was in (my father was dying of cancer at the time and passed 1.5 months after the quake).
Aug. 29th, 2011 10:49 pm (UTC)
(I visualize myself holding your hand for a few moments.)
Aug. 29th, 2011 11:23 pm (UTC)
Yes. Still. Sorry for that.

Still here, though.
Aug. 30th, 2011 12:38 am (UTC)
Hang in there. There will be better times and worse times, but time does help grief. I think it's because it stops feeling so foreign to you. I could be wrong.
Aug. 30th, 2011 02:06 am (UTC)
Giorgio, the one on the left, died a day before my father did and I cared about him a lot more than my father. In a lot of ways, it's good that you cared enough about your father to be so grievous about his death. I'm sure your memories will help you soothe your feelings.
Aug. 30th, 2011 05:55 am (UTC)
Due to Reno and following California vacation with Meg, I'm way behind on news on the social network, so I just read about your dad. Deepest condolences. I hardly noticed 9/11, sorta like you with Irene. Nearly ten years on, I can tell you that it does get better. But I still have times when I see something and wish I could share it with or talk about it with my dad. Fortunately at this point, those moments prompt a smile rather than a flood of tears.
Sep. 1st, 2011 12:14 am (UTC)
I am sorry to read this news. (I'm only now catching up on Internet backlog.)

My sympathies for your loss. Hang in there through this difficult time -- I hope that it helps to know that friends are thinking of you.
( 16 comments — Leave a comment )


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