Baby Steps

I’ve gone to two grief counselor sessions and I think I’m done.

I got out of them what I wanted.  I talked about Dad, I talked about my marriage, and was told I’m healing, moving along at a good pace and that I’m reacting normally.  I’ll have good days and bad days, but otherwise I check out okay.  Good.

Thursday my brother and I drove up to Pawhuska to try and get the rest of Dad’s stuff stored at my uncle’s place.  We sorted through a wall of boxes and retrieved a few errant pieces of furniture and was able to get out of there lacking maybe half a truck full of misc items.  It was a beautiful day and we worked well together.  When we got home, Mom came over and we had one more unpacking/sorting/nostalgia fest before they went home and I went out for St. Patrick’s Day.  It was good times with good friends; that kind of environment energizes me and brings me joy, but like anything else the quiet times afterward seem a little more quiet.

Saturday is the start of my work week, having Thurs/Fri off.  Since I don’t go in ’til 2, it gives me plenty of time to get up and around, perhaps get a few things done before going into the office.  This morning has seen me spend my time in front of the computer, catching up on the news of my friends, checking weather, and my usual list of websites.  I’ve had wells of tears in my eyes for no discernible reason.  I occasionally sigh heavily and my lip turns downward, so I grab my cup of coffee and drown whatever unfocused sorrow seems to be weighing on me today.

That’s probably the most frustrating thing about grief.  For me, it’s rarely, “Oh, Dad gave me this knife when I graduated high school…” and a breakdown occurs.  It’s a cloak of sadness and loss that has no specific.  I can’t, say, put the knife away and make sure I don’t see it all the time.  Most of the time it’s nothing in particular, and I have no way of avoiding the mental ghost of my father.  Again, my counselor said that was normal…so that’s a good thing I suppose.

After all, yesterday marked two months since I received the phone call.  Two months.  Hard to believe it’s only been two months.  I know I’m too hard on myself, but I’m used to being the Strong One.  I don’t know what to do on the days I don’t even want to try to hide it.

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