Trying to maintain a positive, upbeat outlook the past six weeks while being slammed with the fact that three of the people I most cherished on this earth have left it, has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face.
Just as I thought my muddled mind was beginning to clear a little from the first two departures, and started not feeling so guilty if I laughed or smiled, my life was trumped yet again with the dreaded mortality card.
Death is so permanent. There are no “do-overs.” Things you meant to say, time you meant to spend, letters you thought about writing, it’s all up in smoke, and you don’t get a second chance to make it right.
And with this third strike, I nearly imploded. I could feel the tentacles of insanity reaching out to pull me under. I don’t swim all that well to start with, and suddenly my life consisted of nothing but uphill swimming.
Fortunately, I’ve got some pretty decent friends on Facebook. When I admitted my powerlessness, and my fear that I was about to lose it altogether, they flooded my newsfeed with suggestions. Some I’d already tried, and I found excuses for not trying others, but in the end, my path was clear. I needed to seek outside help.
After an hour with a grief counselor, pouring out my story of deep-seated loss and despair, she gave me her verdict: “I think you’re pretty normal, but if you still feel this way in another month, come see me again.”
I have no idea what she meant by “normal,” but I’ll take her advice. Until then, I’m just putting one foot in front of the other and taking a day at a time.
