Still Grieving

"Suppressed grief suffocates,

it rages within the breast,

and is forced to multiply its strength."

Ovid

Four months and 3 days down, the rest of my life to get used to the idea that my dad is gone.

At the 3-4 month mark, so the pundits say, the numbness and shock of grief have pretty much worn off. In the beginning of grief maybe you didn't realize you were feeling like a zombie; or like a cry baby; or like you wanted to smash into the car in front of you for no other reason than it is the car in front of you; or like you want to stay in bed all day because you've got a 2-ton elephant is sitting on your heart. At the 4 month mark you are aware of these things, but still at a loss to change them.

What that means for me is that I seemed to have crossed over into the anger stage of grief. I wonder what I'm going to do when I no longer have grief to blame my erratic behavior on.

Sweetie asked me this morning why I'm feeling angry. Who knows? I fired back. Pick a reason.

• Because the dog I love even though we've barely met has peed on the new carpet so many times that it now smells like the inside of a port-a-potty when you walk in my front door?
• Because I can't even sleep in late and not feel guilty but I do anyway so I feel guilty and slept out and sore and pissy? [What happened to the good old days of being a teenager and sleeping til noon and not even caring if you had a big "L" for lazy emblazoned on your forehead?]
• Because I want to finish getting my house in order but I'm stuck wanting to throw some color into the mix but keep coming back to one of New Mexico's umpteen shades of tan?
• Because I don't want to be a big girl all the time? I want my mom or my dad here to take over being the adult so I can stop worrying.
• Because if my Dad told me once, he said it 237 gazillion times, that I should be preparing for my future but the whole time I was supposed to be doing that I was also supposed to be focusing all my energy on him and while I did that I really never gave it any thought about what I'd be or do after he was gone?
• Because people are being blown to smithereens in the Midwest and at the end of the day there isn't going to be a good witch with a wand and a pair of sparkly red shoes to make it better for them?
• And did I mention I've been reading one of the most horrific books ever about WWII POW camps and wondering what the hell is wrong with mankind that they think it's okay to treat their fellow human beings the way they did/do? No wonder my dad used to say, "people are no damn good." And still, even when I think he may just have been right about everything he ever told me, I dig into my heart and say, no, Daddy, I don't believe that. Light and love will triumph even over the darkest of souls.

Depression is anger turned inward. I don't like feeling angry. I don't like feeling depressed. But what's a girl to do except put one foot in front of the other and get to the other side of this grief thing as fast as she can. In one of the boxes of stuff I found in my dad's dresser there was an old compass. It fits into the palm of my hand. I stuck it in my wallet and take it with me wherever I go. I wonder if it isn't time to tie it around my neck and follow where the needle points. I'd probably get where I'm going a whole lot faster than I am now.

Everybody who thinks I may just a little be crazy raise your hand,

Grouchy ME