Today was a full day. A day of messages and funny pictures, of making plans and making treats, of hugs and lunch and laughter and tears. In the Before, today would’ve been a good day, no asterisk. Just a good, full day.
But I don’t live in the Before.
So yes, today was a full day. It was even a good* day.
*I fought tears all day, sometimes successfully but mostly not.
That’s what it’s like, this life After. Nothing happened to make today different from any other day. It wasn’t the 24th. It was just a really hard day from the moment I woke up.
I had a long lunch with a friend today, an early birthday lunch for her and a chunk of time for us to catch up. Life has been rough for both of us lately. Since today was today, I cried way too much. When we hugged and parted in the parking lot, I apologized one last time, assuring her I’m honestly not a mess all the time, even though I was a mess today, and that apparently “a mess” was the best I could do today. Her response was, “You’re functional. I don’t know how.”
Maybe that’s what I need to remember on days like today, days that come with an asterisk. I am functional. Yes, I stood and stared at the store shelves far longer than I should. Yes, I was hazy all day, my mind slow and cluttered. Yes, I avoided eye contact when shopping and was grateful for self checkout.
But . . . I ran the errands I needed to run. I crossed things off my list. I cried all day, but I am functional. I have a deep appreciation for waterproof mascara, but I am functional.
There’s a fine line between taking care of myself and going forward, and most days that fine line is squiggly. Today landed me solidly on the “taking care of myself” side of the line. Today, I had no option; my body and mind and grief demanded my attention.
When I came home from lunch and errands, I dug through Cooper’s T-shirt drawer, pulled on one of his shirts, and curled up on his bed. Somehow, there’s still a little Cooper scent on his clean shirts; this one even has stick-tights that survived the washer and dryer. This shirt has the essence of Coop.
Eventually I made myself get up and do something. I cleaned the fridge, made supper, and did other normal things, all while wearing my dead son’s shirt. Still, I did the things I needed to do.
Some days are tougher than others—today was inexplicably brutal—but I am functional.*
*grieving
Woods Writes 