Grief.
The weekend my ex-husband moved out, I was sick with my second breakthrough case of COVID. Thankfully, it was far milder than my first battle with it. And even better, I don’t seem to have the lingering side effects for several months like last year. I do, however, have a considerable amount of brain fog. My executive functioning skills are dull; details slip my mind like water in a colander. This is a known side effect of COVID, the specific antidepressant I take, and grief. What’s causing my memory lapses? Probably a combination of all three.
With brain fog comes decision fatigue. Not only is my nervous system impaired when it comes to intaking, processing, and applying information but there are now more situations in which it needs to do exactly that. So many life decisions that were previously a joint effort between my ex-husband and myself — or perhaps delegated to one of us — fall exclusively on my shoulders.
Long-term, I know I have the resiliency to figure it out. I’m going to be fine. But I also know the short-term is going to be difficult. I anticipate the next 4–7 months will continue to be a struggle as I complete everyday-yet-nonetheless-taxing tasks such as arranging for a plumber to fix the broken shower, determining travel plans for the holidays, and researching large purchases. They need to be done. I’m the only one who can do them. But do I have the mental load capacity to actually figure it all out? That’s to be determined.
Grief is weird. Grief is hard. As I told my sister recently, grief is a bitch. (Related: Grief doesn’t always look pretty and polite and put together so don’t @ me, Mom.)
Grief is also uncomfortable to watch, especially if it’s prolonged grief. Human nature is to avoid the painful. We do not welcome reminders that our lives as we know them are — at absolute best — fragile. To witness is also to acknowledge that we may be next; we can try to white-knuckle our way through life, but we can’t actually control it all. Furthermore, we’re helpless to stop the pain others experience. Whether we’re conscious of it or not, most people would rather have someone else go through a painful loss than experience it themselves; but given the option, we’d prefer for no one to walk through it.
And yet, grief is unavoidable. We’ll all walk through it at some point in our lives, and you’ll be lucky to only take the journey once — yet perhaps that’s not luck, just loneliness. As Queen Elizabeth II famously said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”
While this isn’t a long piece, it’s taken me a while to write. Identifying, naming, and processing is emotionally draining — which isn’t easy due to the aforementioned brain fog. But mostly, I don’t know how to end it. Tips for managing your grief, or supporting a loved one as they work through their own? Reassurances that everything’s alright and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel? After all, I’m of the “In this essay, I will…” generation and ask myself what’s the thesis or the point or the purpose. The norm is to find the something that wraps together in a neat and tidy manner, adding to the ongoing conversation of grief and culture.
But right now and right here, I don’t have that in me. I recognize the long-term is out there, but I can only exist in the short-term. I can’t relieve the tension of watching another in their grief. Perhaps I can or should keep my grief to myself until such a time as it can be boiled down to pithy statements and lessons learned, but I find that disingenuous.
We’re allowed to acknowledge the here-and-now of our lives — even if it’s uncomfortable for those who bear witness. Maybe even especially then.
