Coming out of the Fog.





"I think you've really been coming out of the fog these last few months, both of you" one of my besties said last week. Fog? What fog? Was it foggy today? I didn't notice.

 OH THAT FOG!  You mean the giant all encompassing fog, where I feel like I'm stumbling around in a foggy graveyard called grief and I can't see the end of my nose much less figure out what were going to eat for dinner or remember what I'm supposed to do that day. The one where the only thing you can see is that nothing is right, that the fog is everywhere, that you are lost and you have no idea where to go now or even what direction to turn in. THAT FOG!

The my husband died suddenly fog. My Husband died, I say that a lot. Dan died, dead. Gone. Lost.

I hadn't really thought about it, but her comment made me do a quick evaluation "You know what I think we have too. We are really doing well, I feel like I can remember stuff better and I can handle stuff better. Baby Girl is doing so much better. Were so much better then even two months ago"  What does better even mean and when does it apply. Last week when I said that I meant it, I felt like I was finally getting a handle on things. I cooked dinner twice, like actually prepared a meal, not just warming up something from the freezer. Yes the fog is lifting.

Yesterday the fog was actually lifted enough that I felt like I had energy to tackle some projects.  Project one: put wheel on the chest so I can move it around easier. You know the big wooden chest Dan had got me one year to store my scrapbook supplies in.  At the moment it held "Dan things" things that were Dan's that I didn't know exactly what to do with in our new house so I stuck them all in this chest for safe keeping. I was going to have to take it all out to put the wheels on it. Thats ok, the fog is lifting, I have energy today, I can do it.  His favorite mug, old cards, old letters, the blanket Baby Girl got him that says 'I love Daddy'. It's been awhile since I looked at it, its been in storage.

A letter he wrote Baby Girl before we were even married about how excited he was to be her Dad. It's dated 1997. Baby Girl was born in 2007. it says "I'm addressing this to my Baby Girl and not baby boy because Jenny is certain she will have a girl first" look at that I was right. The fog is rolling back in.

A silly story he made up for our best friends in college. It's titled "Bonjour" In the middle they visit a place called Ceramic hell and it ends in a toilet. We had some really great times with our besties in college. Reading it brings back so many memories that make me laugh. The fog keeps rolling in.

Anniversary cards. Every single one has a paragraph about how he loves me, it's better then shakespeare. Our wedding anniversary the year Baby Girl was born, we were soooo tired. "Thank you for taking care of my child all these months, it means more to me then you'll ever know" he writes. I wonder what he would say about how many months I've taken care of her without him now. One about teddy bears "doing it" I'll just let you use your imagination.  Is it foggy in here or is that just the teddy bears?

Then there's this one from some random valentines day I don't even remember. Dan wrote "If even the whole world were to fall away and all that was left was the knowledge that I had been loved by you, I would consider myself the most successful, luckiest, happiest person, and all the world would still be right." That's it, i'm done. The fog is so thick I can't really think straight. why did he do that? why did he write that? why did he have to be so great? why did he die?

I walk through the thick, cold, heavy, inescapable fog. Into the living room where Baby Girl is watching tv. I lay down with her, the fog is so thick and heavy that I feel like I can't even think. I have to close my eyes. I woke up an hour later. The fog is still everywhere. I stumble through Fog the rest of the day, trying not to trip over gravestones of memories. I go to sleep in a fog.

Life is still foggy today. I have wandered around scatter brained all day. starting and stopping projects, trying to remember what I was doing. Trying to remember what I was supposed to do. Just stumbling around in a fog.  I don't know how long it will take the fog to lift enough for me to see something again. I don't know when the fog will come back or how thick and cold it will be. Fog is very unpredictable. I kinda hate fog.


I wrote a book about my grief, you can read it here: Carry on Castle

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