Tsunami

I guess I have been feeling overwhelmed this weekend. Initially, I thought the source of my anxiety was my final exam, but now that the end of the day has come and gone, I realize that I have been running, running, running away from my grief since Friday evening just barely managing to stay one step ahead of an explosion.

Grief is like a volcano, sometimes quiet and cool and sometimes fiery and explosive, spewing molten lava and burning everything in it’s path. During the quiet times, it’s hard to imagine that an eruption will ever occur and imagining an upcoming episode or remembering a prior eruption is never quite as intense as when I find myself in the throes of a new one.

Friday night I went to a jazz concert. Saturday I went to a friend’s house and then to a voice lesson. I began to wander, aimlessly, after that but intercepted my thoughts of shopping with thoughts and the accrual of a delicious super sized carnitas burrito which I chased down with a bunch of watermelon. Running around and eating usually stave off the grief for a while until I can no longer contain myself. Right after that I took a Tylenol PM, watched the Fugitive and fell asleep. This morning, I cleaned, went to a meeting, shopped, washed laundry, visited my sister, went food shopping and finally came home.

In between all of that stuff, I found the time to snap at one of my closest friends. I struck like a cobra, unleashing my pent up rage all over him. I felt awful. I was venomous. I was angry. It wasn’t his fault. I called and left a voicemail apologizing to him and when I hung up the phone, all of the gurgling, toxic grief finally came bursting out.

I sat at my vanity, my spirit collapsing as it sometimes does, burying my head in my folded up arms and sobbed uncontrollably. Sometimes I feel small in the midst of my grief. My heart ached, my head ached and I sat for as long as I needed to, allowing sadness to take over. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. Existing hurt.

I came out into the living room, inserted our wedding DVD into the player and watched us for the first time since the one-year mark. Seeing us happily wed destroyed me. Sometimes I can’t understand or believe what happened. He was 34. How could this have happened? I was happy. We were happy. None of it is fair.

When I was finished, I felt very tired. But I felt better. I visited my sister for a while, went food shopping with another friend and swallowed an Ativan to squish down the second onslaught of grief that threatened to resurface.

I need to remind myself that grief is turbulent. It’s a bucking bronco, throwing me and stomping on me until I’m writhing around on the ground trying to avoid getting crushed. It bats me around like a feline bats a trapped mouse around.

That’s what grief does.

I’m tired. I’m shaky. I’m afraid it will come again. It will come again. There’s no doubt.

Marc invited me out this evening but I declined. I was in no frame of mind to think about my future. I was buried in my past and that’s exactly where I wanted to be today.