I'm downtown in my favorite coffee shop this morning, before work. Christmas songs are playing. It's snowing out in the county and everybody's talking about how cold it got in the last 48 hours. This first winter weather feels like a holiday because it's on everyone's minds. We're all bundled up, rosy cheeked, in coats and scarves. My heart feels less heavy now that I have a peppermint latte in my hands, with candy sprinkles on whipped cream.
Yesterday during an afternoon break at work, I read a blog post from a man who has Alzheimer's. I found his page earlier this year, and his latest post caught my eye. Immediately, I had a lump in my throat. While writing a quick comment in response, tears started falling. How incredible that he has the language to describe what he is experiencing! It was a little porthole into my Mom's experience, and a wave of guilt and sadness and horror submerged me. I left my desk and hid in the restroom. Locked inside the stall, I wept.
Grief is so spontaneous and exhausting. I know I can't read that stuff and not expect it to affect me (I wont be revisiting that blog during work hours, that's for sure). I wish I could compartmentalize myself better and address those big emotional issues on my own time, but I don't think life works like that. I'm thankful for co-workers who understand and were gracious about giving me time (at least to let the red eyes and puffy face fade).
I'm tired of feeling so much.
I'm tired of the ways grief affects my relationships.
I'm tired of second-guessing my own needs.