Several weeks ago I mentioned that I was doing much better. Grief cycles seem so cyclic, I was a little afraid that I was just in the middle of a few good weeks, but the pattern has persisted, for which I am thankful. For a long while, the waves of grief would hit, unpredictably, intense, for hours or days, so intense that it almost translated into a physical pain. That doesn't seem to happen often anymore, and when it does, I don't feel so lost in them that I can't find my way out. The feeling is familiar, and while not pleasant is welcome as a part of me, a part of my loss of Henry.
I feel much more myself, with all of my assets and handicaps intact. I'm back to forgetting friends' birthdays (never really stopped that, but I had an excuse), avoiding exercise, actually caring enough about work to let it stress me out. Regular life stuff.
But it feels as if I am walking in three inches of standing water. It's not harder than it is for everyone. I'm not debilitated. In some ways, especially parenting, I think I'm doing a better job than I've ever done. But every time I move, every step I take, every thought I have is followed by sadness that he's gone.
I wished and wished for some relief when the grief was so intense. Sometimes I did not feel like I had the strength to carry it much further.
But I don't honestly know if this stage will ever pass. If it doesn't, that's ok. This is something I could do the rest of my life, hearing the splash, watching the ripples every time I move. Maybe I don't want it to go away?