It was 4 months yesterday – it’s a counter that’s ticking non-stop in my head. I didn’t go to office, just sat around at home. Thankfully it was Friday and my friends dropped in by evening for our now routine Friday meet-ups and I whiled away some more time. But then they were gone and the whole night was ahead of me. I slept from 12:00 – 1:30 and then I was up. Just like that. And I stayed awake all night till the sunlight started filtering in through the windows. Then I made myself a cup of tea. Why was I awake? Was it because that time 4 months ago I was driving madly to get to him? I don’t really know. I didn’t feel it last night, but I didn’t get a wink of sleep either.
A while ago, I remember crying about how everything in my life is falling apart. It’s tough, learning to live without him. And my life pretty much revolves around my laptop now writing these blogs or checking Facebook for old posts and pictures. The little things like paying bills, buying groceries, etc. keep me so busy that I have time for little else. What outlet is grief supposed to find then?
A friend of mine who faced a similar tragedy a few years ago calls these annoying little tasks a blessing in disguise. It’s because they exhaust you, and you have no time to think, no time to rue what’s gone, no time to reminisce, no time to conjure images of times together. Just NO TIME. So grieving takes a back seat, and becomes a few tears shed here and there in a few moments where something has sparked a memory. Most often these moments happen in the car, driving around, when you are on autopilot and there is nothing to do.
Is it healthy? It could be that you move on clutching one little thing at a time. It could be that the grief would just build up inside, and one day when nothing is to be done, it’ll just burst out. I don’t relish the prospect of shedding tears everyday, so for now I am thankful for the little things. True there are days when all I want to do is howl, but then the bell rings and it’s the car wash guy, or the milkman, or the maid, and then the feeling fades away in the onslaught of life.