I’ve been thinking about grief and what it is to me. I lack the wisdom of poets so I don’t have any beautiful metaphors. Maybe because I have yet to find any beauty in grief.
My grief felt like it had a lot in common with the much maligned feelings of teenage angst. Not in a mopey or nihilistic way but the core questions that give the bones to those feelings. Am I normal? Am I the only one to feel like this?
When I started looking online at message boards (not blogs at that point, that would come later) it was the same thing for many, many others. The sense of policing your grief to meet the expectations of others. This could take the form of changing what words you use or your behaviour for fear of upsetting someone else.
I did the same. I have no religious affiliation but wanted a religious service for the family members that are religious and do find comfort in those words and rituals.
Much like a Raw Shock (above) my grief takes on an abstract form and often that raw mess is replaced by paralysis through analysis.
Second guessing why I’m suddenly floored by a wave of sadness rather than just feeling it and letting it take its course. This detachment serves as both a defence mechanism and means of deferring the feeling for another time.
When is that time? When is my guard truly down? Usually when drunk which is probably why I don’t drink much anymore. I’m very sensitive to the feelings that alert me that I’m liable to slide into gloom bunny territory. At that point drinking stops and polite excuses are made before a discreet exit.