Skip to content

Limbo

July 18, 2014

When I am stressed, I clean. This morning, when I should be packing and showering, I have already removed everything from one of our banks of shelves, have washed them down, reorganized, thrown things away. I have done two loads of laundry and have washed the dishes. I emptied the vase on the mantel and refilled it with clean water, cutting back the dead stems. My house smells like reconstituted lemons.

Somewhere in my head, an observant little voice is reminding me that this is therapy. That the fact that I’m having trouble unplugging from work is because that’s where I feel competent and in control. I’m conjuring emergency scenarios in my head about work that won’t happen until October just because planning to prevent emergencies means I can prevent them. When facing an emergency that I was utterly unable to prevent, it’s what I need to get by, I think.

This has been the longest week. Last night I told my mother Andrew had been gone for more than a week and I didn’t realize my mistake until AJ looked at me like I was crazy. Since Monday feels like a week. I’ve completely lost track of what day it is. Alarms and reminders are getting me through the day. Alarms and reminders will make sure AJ and I are on our plane tonight. I’m counting on being swept into the family orbit when we arrive. There is safety in numbers.

Advertisements
2 Comments leave one →
  1. July 22, 2014 8:04 am

    I’m a little–and oddly–envious that you got to go to the funeral. We are trying to just go on as if nothing had happened, and while it feels weird to me, I know it’s wrong for Ron. His mother doesn’t think she can face any kind of memorial service, though. I think maybe there’s a lesson there about what’s good for the surviving spouse not being as good for the surviving children.

  2. July 25, 2014 7:27 am

    The funeral was a good thing. The family props you up. It’s the one place where it’s okay to complain about things, okay to laugh as well as cry. Goodbyes are hard, but less hard when there are witnesses and others who remember.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: