In which I am not ready for prime-time

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Yesterday, I went to the shop, because I must buy and eat food. I thought that was perfectly all right. There is a kind of adrenaline I have found in the beginning of grief. I'm not sure if that is the same for everyone. On the first morning after, I walked round and round the block, as the sun beat down, talking to friends, remembering good times, making jokes. Making jokes? But then I rather loved that there was room for laughter in the remembrance. That felt right.

I could not sit still, so I walked and walked, until the Duchess actually refused to go another step, planting herself on the path and looking at me with baffled eyes.

There was a hovering sense of unreality, but as long as I was with the family, getting calls from the good friends, and the Beloved Cousin, who rings each day, that was fine. Not fine, exactly, but finer than I might have thought.

I was a bit vague in the shop. I just thought: protein, and green things. Chicken, I thought; I must make chicken soup.  Then I ran into someone I know, not very well, whom I have not seen for a long time. She had to say hello twice before I realised that she was there.

'You look in a bit of a daze,' she said.

In my head, I said: my Dad died.

Out loud I said: 'Oh yes, I suppose I am.' I did a silly me sort of laugh and tried to focus my eyes. I nodded and shrugged.

We made small talk. Because we are British, we spoke of the weather. I heard myself say: 'I am so glad there is some rain for the garden. The poor flowers are frantic for rain.'

In my head, I said: But my Dad died.

I nodded and smiled some more. Don't say anything, I thought. You can't talk about death in the Co-Op.

That poor woman, I thought, she must think I am so rude.

When I got home I thought how funny it is. Funny peculiar, really, more than funny ha ha. I think I actually thought my grief was going rather well. It's a clean thing, strong and authentic, running through my body like a river. It is tears and laughter. It is a lot of love. But it is more fragile than I thought. It is not yet ready to go out of the house.

 

Pictures:

I bought some roses. They are a little bit out of focus:

Dogs:

And for those of you who celebrate it, Happy Easter.

And thank you again for all the many wonderful comments. I know that a lot of you know all about this. That you took the time to leave messages is incredibly moving. Forgive me for not replying to you individually.