The curser has been blinking at me for an undetermined length of time. I stare at it, close my eyes for a bit, and when I reopen them it's still there, blinking in the same spot. I'm struggling to put my thoughts down and it's not happening. The physical, mental, and emotional fatigue is overwhelming. The few sentences just written have taken almost a half hour.
I don't know why I'm even trying to write. The normal desire to write is absent. It's not writer's block. It's a creative lethargy, as though all the soul energy has been drained from me. A haze has descended and I am groping for words. My few thoughts are scattered like car headlights as they try to pierce fog. This must be a manifestation of grief. It's showing up in various ways: the inability to engage in meaningful conversation, difficulty making decisions, however insignificant, and an empty-headedness crudely attempting to block the realization I will soon be very alone.
It was suggested I'd feel a little better after vacuuming as if grief can be neatly sucked up and deposited in a trash bag to be put at the curb. I'm just scratching at the surface of grief. I know it's deep, frighteningly deep. There is a precipice I don't want to fall over. But I have an inkling there will be little I can control in this process. It makes me think of the Joni Mitchell song, The Circle Game, to be "captive on the carousel of life...and go round and round and round in the circle game." There is no escape. There are delaying tactics, avoidance, and shutting down, but no escape.
I think this is going to be a long, difficult journey and I'm dreading it. I'm afraid of it.
But there is Jesus.
And he promised to be with me unto the end of the age.
