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December 21, 2011
So the truth is it’s not getting better. The intensity and dynamics of this grief are different and better in that I am functioning on a day to day sort of way with inner life pushed to one side in the obvious ways. (No crying stores, at public gatherings or on the street.)
For a woman who’s given birth, it’s like a contraction, a big one. Hitting all at once, out of nowhere ~ you’re breathing, perhaps Lamaze breathing ~ you’ve just had a whopper and you’re breathing. It should be a minute or two until the next one but then, Bang and two in a row with no recovery time, nothing to prepare you ~ I go off to the market. I’ll eat lunch. I will watch Brenda Watson on PBS...The Road to Perfect Health. I need to be a supporter of PBS. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Peter should have been taking Probiotics. We both knew Brenda Watson in Florida. I’ve become a PBS supporter. Why didn’t we get on a better health regimen? I go to bed with slight regret. Sleep all night, too. All night. Wake a bit too early, can’t catch my breath...complete panic. It’s the big one, one more push. This is too much, give me drugs. Breathe through it. No, it’s not possible. The policeman says, “Yes, he’s dead.” No, I’m supposed to die first. You’ve made a mistake. “No” he says.
It’s now a year later, and again and again with unbearable force, coupled with irrational thoughts and I keep breathing. No birth. That baby is still in there. I’ll just keep breathing. One more cleansing breath. Now I ask myself, is this appropriate? Should anyone out there see it? I’m sorry if anyone thinks not. It’s all I can do. This and breathing. Just breathe. The telephone rings. Yes? Oh, a walk? A walk would be nice. Even though I prefer to walk with a dog, I don’t have one. Cats won’t. I do have 3 strange little creatures and I apologize for all the analogies in this past year, in this last year’s entries. All the sorrow I might have unleashed on you, My Dear Ones. But this is a big one and it lives, and isn’t going away. It seems one hell of a payoff but then I’ve never believed in payoffs. And I keep writing it down because that is how I figure things out. Otherwise thoughts just short-circuit, don’t go anywhere, never resolve. But if were a really good writer, I would resolve everything and then perhaps start my own religion. There must be loads of folks like me...in and out of funk and grief. Any answer might be better than none at all. Maybe between the lines, here and there, is an answer. The obvious one is keep breathing.
My Dear Ones, join me in my Ministry of Keep Breathing.