I feel broken.
I don’t know how else to describe it.
It’s like part of me broke the day my mom died, and I haven’t figured out how to fix it yet.
I’m lost. I’m confused. I’m scared.
For the last four days, I haven’t managed to wake up until 9am or later. I haven’t been able to drag myself out of bed before 10:30am. And usually I only manage that due to a full bladder or an empty stomach.
I feel overwhelmed by everything.
I’ve lost my focus, my drive, my ambition.
All I want to do is read and watch TV. I barely have the energy for more than that, and I know it’s psychological, not physical. I just had my Remicade infusion last week. I normally feel amazing right after my infusion. I was fine over the weekend. Dan and I even hosted a small party on Sunday. Three of my good friends came over. We played board games, drank sangria, and made pizza. It was wonderful.
And then Monday happened.
I’ve had a whole week of Mondays.
A whole week of feeling unmotivated to do anything. I barely managed to slap together a blog post yesterday, a blog post that’s more pictures than text. At least I cleaned the entire master bathroom. It practically sparkles. It only took me three days to get that much done.
I know a lot of people have told me, many times, that I can call them whenever I need them.
I believe you. All of you. I really do.
But it’s hard for me to cry with other people. It’s even harder for me to cry over the phone. I’d rather just curl up in my too-big, pink, and fuzzy robe and cry by myself.
Which is what I’m doing right now while I write this.
This is what grief looks like the week before my late mother’s birthday, and my parents’ wedding anniversary, which will also mark five months since my mom died.
I’m so sorry, Brita. I’m not even going to pretend I know what you’re going through. I feel for you, though. You’re constantly on my heart and I’ve prayed for you ever day this week. I’m so sorry!
Thanks, Charlene. You’ve been a really good friend to me this year.
Your grief is palpable because you are being so open, honest, and vulnerable…all things that I greatly respect. Prayers to you.
Your prayers are much appreciated, thank you.
my heart breaks for you. it’s just so unfair, isn’t it? i don’t have the words but just know you aren’t alone.
I wish that you didn’t know what this feels like. I told my dad this weekend that it feels like we’ve joined this exclusive club (that sucks), and we’re suddenly aware of people going through the same thing. A really great woman from our church died a few weeks ago, after a lifelong battle with kidney failure, and so many transplants. Her daughters are younger than I am, and my heart just breaks for them.
Dear Brita, you post really touched my heart. I lost both my parents at an interval of 5 weeks in 2010. I remember what you’ve written above, the difficulty to get out of bed, not wanting to do anything, the crying. I’m sending you all my love. May it help to heal your heart just a little bit.
Oh Brita, I am so sorry. All the love in the world to you.
Thank you, Betsy. <3