I am officially back at the Day Job this week. It feels like it’s been the hardest week of my life since Michael died.
Don’t get me wrong: it is great to be back among people. It is great having a steady schedule again. But it is so hard at times…
- Dealing with those who don’t know about Michael’s death, who are excited about his obvious birth, and having to explain
- Conversely, dealing with those who know, but prefer to pretend nothing happened
- Having difficulties focusing on the task at hand. It feels like I’m even more ADHD than I was before…
- Seeing reminders (mothers with young children) of what I lost, or more accurately, what I never had in the first place
- Not having the freedom to fall apart at the seams when I feel like it, because, hey, work to be done
- Not knowing where anything is anymore, because there have been renovations during my absence
It’s exhausting. I hop in the car to come home and the tears begin flowing before I’ve even left the city limits. I arrive home completely tapped out, barely able to form a coherent sentence.
This? This is the part of grief that I hate. The part where daily life goes on (and on and on and on…) regardless of the fact that you aren’t healed yet, and each day’s events rip off what scabs you’ve managed to form overnight. And it hurts, all over again, to the point you find yourself in tears over just the thought of having to face people again at 9a.m. and go through another day of feeling like a failure.
It’s simply not fair. Which sounds entirely childish and petulant, but it’s the truth. Life isn’t fair. Sometimes you end up hiding in the bathroom in tears and sometimes you don’t…
But this is my life now, such as it is. I’ve got to either take it or leave it, and let’s just say I’m too damn stubborn to let go.