Blaming Grief

Grief is not just about sadness. A lot of it is about sadness, of course, and about the inability to control when it raises its head, and never knowing when that is going to be. But grief affects every area of life.

I used to say jokingly that I was one life crisis away from becoming a hoarder. Have you watched that show? For the most part, hoarders are not in the position they are in because they are lazy. Most of the time, people who end up in that situation are sick, either mentally or physically or both. Well, I've had the life crisis that could drive me into a similar situation, and I totally see how it can happen.

It isn't sadness. It isn't laziness. It is grief, plain and simple. It clouds your mind, reprioritizes your thoughts for you, makes you unable to process simple tasks. How do I know? I know.

Tasks at work take me on average twice as long as I am used to processing. I can't tell you how many times I have walked up to the printer to find nothing waiting for me, because I didn't actually sent it to the printer. (Yes, I've done that before, too, but not as much as I have in the past several weeks.)

The milk in the refrigerator is dated Dec. 2. Because we haven't been to the store in a month, probably. I did grab a few things at Walmart last week: something like 8 cans of a variety of beans. (We are having a chili supper at work next week so I thought I'd get a few non-perishable things I would need -- but 8 cans?!)

Last week, Carson came into our bedroom and asked me what I was packing the suitcases for. I had to tell him that I hadn't unpacked from our last trip.

I've run the same load of laundry through the washing machine three times in the past week. Because I can't seem to get it to the dryer.

Honestly, I think I have cooked two or three meals in the last six months. Thank you to all of you who kept us fed in June, July, and August, especially!

Yesterday, I locked myself out of the house. I was sure I had keys in my purse, but when I got in the car, they were nowhere to be found. I dumped the entire contents of my purse out in the seat, but no keys. I called Mike. I got the spare key from the neighbor. I walked all through the house looking for keys, but couldn't find them anywhere... because they were in my jeans pocket the whole time.

If you have sent me an email, text message or Facebook message, and I haven't responded, it is often because I will see it at work or in the car, and I think I'll get to it when I get home, and then I just forget. Or I will mentally compose a response, and then never actually type it in. Or I will start an email response, and then get distracted, and find the draft hours later. Don't take it personally.

My house -- never a showplace -- is a disaster. It is hard to go through the stacks of mail -- medical bills and college mail is especially a big trigger. Sometimes, I'll get into a manic fit -- I bet I have vacuumed and cleaned the carpets as much in the past four months as I have in the past four years! Other days, clothes pile up where they drop; cups in the sink outnumber the people in the house; the trash gets full to overflowing.

It isn't that any of us want to live like this. But some days, just getting out of bed is all I can do. Other days, I try to be productive, both at work and at home. We are all kind of that way right now. So don't blame me. Blame grief. That's what I do.