I miss the quiet.
Rather, I miss enjoying the quiet.
I've always loved quiet, early morning cups of coffee, or sitting along at the pool and daydreaming, or watching a fire crackle.
It's always been great thinking time for me, I could turn off my conscious thoughts enought to let my mind wander to less trodden paths, get new ideas, remember old ones.
Now my mind wanders about as well as a dog with a next door bitch in heat.
Sometimes I remember good things, happy things about him, that make me smile. They still hurt though, and I can only do it for so long before the mood of the memory shifts to pain and grief. More often my mind replays painful memories, the bad times in the hospital, the times I regret how I responded to him, the early signs of his illness. And very often his death. The last 60 seconds of his life. It was a quiet and peaceful death, overall, but such a traumatic memory for me.
Sometimes when I'm feeling strong I'll replay it over and over in my mind, hoping that my brain just needs to get through it a certain number of times before it can let it go, but so far it hasn't worked.
What used to be a solace is now a problem for me. I really can't be in the quiet very long. I think this is a big reason of why work has been so enjoyable to me lately...for the most part I'm too busy to dwell on anything. Fortunately, my work setup is such that I can't work more than my regularly scheduled hours, so a pathologic escapism is not an option for me, but geez do I see how some people do that.
I feel like I no longer plan ahead, dream of the future, like trips, projects, life changes. Maybe that's because of the grief, or our family's recent life where we couldn't plan more than 24 hours ahead for anything. I don't feel like I'm coasting, but I'm definitely just riding in the old ruts, not really looking around much.
But I wonder too if it's because I can't just be anymore.