It happens at the strangest times

Well I thought I'd be a crying gelatinous blob by now. So far I'm okay. As I said yesterday I'm still in overdrive. I went to the bank this morning and sat down for my appointment, totally fine. But when it came time to hand the guy Jim's death certificate, I sort of blanked out. I could see that he was talking to me, but...that was about it. Everything he said for around 10 minutes was just gone.

I also had an interesting experience yesterday that I keep relaying in my head. When I called the insurance company to file a claim, the woman I spoke with on the phone told me that her husband had a one pound tumor removed two weeks ago. She said that they'd been informed that it was malignant. When I asked her if his cancer had metasticized, she said "what does metasticized mean?" What does metasticized mean? Oh boy. I told her to get a pen. I told her to buy a pad of paper and start writing down and asking questions. I told her to go buy There's No Place Like Hope. She started talking to me about his recommended treatment options and I realized that I wanted to keep talking to this woman. I'm not sure where I wanted to go with the conversation...but I wanted to help her. She started me on my way with the insurance company and I wished her the best of luck. I wish I could control every cancer scenario. I wish I could help people figure it all out that don't know to ask questions. I wish my efforts had been enough for Jim. I wish I wasn't calling the insurance company. I wish Jim was here.

People keep telling me that I'm so strong and I'm starting to wonder if I'm just in denial. I just sort of expect that he's going to come back soon. Like he went on a vacation. Even though I'm talking to the ashes, I'm just using them as a focal point until Jim gets back from his vacation. Just like when I had postpartum depression when I had Rachel and I wondered when we were going to be done babysitting. Denial, I guess.

It seems unnatural that I'm calm. Maybe this is the calm before the storm. Don't get me wrong - I'm still a mess. I'm just not a crying mess. If too many people talk to me at once, my brain shuts down. If someone asks me a question while I'm trying to complete something, my brain shuts down and I freak out. If someone asks me a series of questions my brain shuts down. If there's any kind of running background noise, my brain gets aggravated. I can't even listen to the radio in the car. It's just too much. I can only complete one.thing.at.a.time. Annoying. And apparently my decision making skills have gone out the window. Today I couldn't even choose between hot or cold tea. We're talking TEA. Not like they're asking me to settle the Palestinian/Israeli conflict.

Grief seems to be striking me at strange times. I thought I'd be most sad when I'm alone, running errands, reading, etc. Those were the times I was most sad about Jim's cancer. Better yet, those are the times I allowed myself to be sad about Jim's cancer. I assumed I'd be sad when I was alone, but I feel most sad with a group of people. I'm most sad at night. Turning out the light seems like a monumentally bad idea. Once the light is out, I'm so exhausted that most nights my head barely hits the pillow before I'm asleep. But that's because I stay up later than I should because I don't want to turn out the light. I'm sad when I have trouble with my tenses - I jump between present and past tense when talking about Jim. When I hear myself speak in the present tense, I immediately (and silently, thankfully ) tell myself "Present tense! You're not supposed to use present tense or people will think you can't let go!" But when I speak in the past tense, I immediately (and silently, thankfully) tell myself "Past tense! You're not supposed to use the past tense! It's too soon!" Um, are these the kinds of things my brain should be quibbling over? I think not.

I fear going to the grocery store. Every week I used to buy things special for Jim that I knew he liked. Not the same things, mind you. I used to buy Pringles one week, rootbeer another. His favorite cereal (Cracklin' Oat Bran). He loves/loved (argh!) plums. He liked cooked carrots, not raw. And he loved chips and salsa. And cheese in a jar. Yuck. Am I going to be one of those women that has a meltdown in Aisle 6 at the Piggly Wiggly and no one knows why?

Am I ever going to be normal again? (Or, at least, as "normal" as I was before?) Am I ever going to quit overthinking everything? If I cry, will it help, or will it just make me feel worse? When I look at pictures of Jim, I feel sad, but mostly, I feel happy. I feel happy for the times we shared and for the solid documentation that we had a heck of a lot of fun together and did a lot of cool stuff.

I feel guilt. Guilt that he didn't make it. Guilt that I am also a little happy for him - that he's no longer suffering. Guilt that I'm messing up the tenses. Guilt that I feel happy when I look at pictures of Jim. Everything seems to be so contradictory in my head right now.

I read a book on grief that talked about people shedding buckets and buckets of tears. I looked through the book and the quiz at the end. I match all of the symptoms, except crying and anger. I guess I have enough to think about without worrying whether or not I'm grieving the "right" way. I guess it will come to me as it happens. Whether I'm alone or in a group, whether it's day or night, and whether I'm using the present or past tense.