I think I am avoiding coming here. I am blogging in my mind constantly but when it comes to making time to sit down and write it out for real, I find a hundred other things to do and focus on. I don't know...sometimes I wonder if I am only capable of intense creativity when things are going poorly. And though it is not ideal in many ways right now, its not going poorly enough to push me to the internal angst that makes me determined to capture the internal sensations in written word. And if I am not writing something that feels right, I don't want to write it at all.
The truth is, I am in a bit of a holding pattern, just holding still to see what the world is going to usher in. The new job really does get a little bit better every day. It has some aspects of sales to it, which I thoroughly am enjoying and doing well with. I still feel angry though when I think about the new job. I am resisting letting myself settle in. I think to some extent forevermore I will struggle with things that happen beyond my control. I seem to have an unspoken internal belief that I have punched that card, hit the life time maximum, so to speak. The universe apparently has other ideas. I would plead my case if I knew where to direct my irritation.
Revisitation of my grief has cycled around anew. Joseph's absence is like a wound that festers internally and occasionally comes to the surface once more to show itself. I miss him so much sometimes that I would swear something physical were wrong with me. It gives me chest pain. I have been crying in the car a lot, doing a lot of thoughtful, conscious yearning for him. I find myself frequently afraid inside...fearful of th swift passage of time, fearful of Nick and Alex aging. Fearful of my own aging. I feel intensely OLD inside. I am not joking when I say I am constantly discovering anew that I am only 38 years old. I think of myself in much older terms. I see someone without youth when I look in the mirror or at pictures recently taken of myself. I am suddenly obsessed with reading the labels on skin care products, though admit I have not crossed over from my usual pragmatism into insanity enough to actually purchase any as yet. But I walk around in a near constant state of a knowledge that life will soon be over. I suppose if my outlook were not so guarded and cautious right now, this could be a time of fantastical personal growth. Maybe it still is, just not in necessarily a good way. There lingers within a fear of my own shadow, a desire to huddle into my family. I am disturbed by my own moderate nature just now. I am used to being a woman of somewhat powerful emotional extremes and this internal lack of give-a-shit is either really, really healthy or really, really not. I just can't find myself interested in debating whether or not Obama is doing a good job. I don't seem to summon any massive emotional response to anything going on in the world now, steeped as I am completely in the sense that things tend to turn out exactly as they are going to. I continue to be remarkably unafraid of death but yet conversely massively fearful of suffering. And I struggle against a sorrow that I have gotten so old so fast, that I will never talk to Joseph again in this lifetime in any language that makes easy sense to me. My missing of him is intense and clingy. It wraps around me and carries me along with it. I put it here, I tuck it there, keeping it neat and tidy and mostly out of my way. But its there, on my person, and seems to have a mind of its own as to when or whether it pokes its head out and touches me. My sorrow continues to be tinged by intense colors of guilt as well, for his suffering, for his death. For things I failed to do as a mother. I try hard to just let these thoughts happen without judgement or prevention, but it is difficult. The grief is more intense now than ever, yet more manageable. It is familiar. I am lonely inside and often caught somewhere between feeling unsure, afraid and resigned. Sometimes I feel incredibly motivated and full of energy for a life, my life, which is not yet done....direct oppposite of the other....the feeling of falling away, of looking through frosted glass at the lives of others buzzing onward, oblivious and busy, of being tucked outside of the world. Grief is a lonely, lonely road. I try to be graceful within it and believe I am most of the time. I no longer even want to rage at the world. But I do note the pale distance that is there between myself and those who have never known real tragedy. Usually it is breached simply by letting it be there. But sometimes it rears up and yawns in my face. Three paces removed, all this space between me and everyone else. I can still hear them, see them, even touch them. I wish I could understand and control then why it feels so different and so far.