When Dominic first ran ahead to Heaven I resisted having any kind of calendar visible. I didn’t want to mark time passing without him to pass it with me.
I’ve since resumed my yearly ritual of hanging the big blank picture calendar in my kitchen-the only way I really know how to keep up with doctor appointments, family visits, birthdays and other important dates in spite of technology.
I don’t know about you, but days turn into weeks turn into months almost faster than I can count them. Even during this pandemic pause or craziness or whatever you want to call it, life goes on.
I’ve been busy but not overwhelmed (most of the time!). I’ve tried to tackle some home projects that had been neglected, organize things, take a few trips here and there to visit family and (did I mention?) get our ducks in a row for my husband’s retirement.
I’ve often written that grief doesn’t only change the way I think about the past but it also changes the way I experience the present.
And while I’ve gotten oh, so much better, at pacing myself, granting myself grace for milestone days and simply saying “no” to extra demands, I still find that having a hole in my heart shapes how I approach even the most mundane tasks.
I’ve had to make a lot of phone calls lately-tying up loose ends, getting new healthcare lined up, making yearly doctor appointments, getting dental work done (which I hate!). Long minutes on hold still-STILL!-make me feel trapped and out of control, even when I put the phone on speaker. Repeating myself over and over to the “next available representative” echoes the many times I had to tell of Dom’s demise when I made all the necessary calls to people with whom he did business.
It’s funny where your mind goes when forced to sit and wait.
Some days I’m just done by lunchtime. Even though there is a lot of day left in the day I am out of steam for taking advantage of it.
I’m learning to prioritize and knock out pressing tasks earlier rather than later and leave the rest until tomorrow.
Trouble is, the tomorrows are adding up and piling on.
I’m not sure there are enough days left in this year to get them all done.
I used to be a dynamo-regularly squeezing two days’ work into one. Now I don’t think I ever get a full days’ worth out of my waking hours. My writing has suffered since it’s something I only do well when I feel rested and caught up on other chores.
I’m not the person I was before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I’m slower, less organized and definitely undermotivated.
The calendar accuses me of how little progress I’ve made.
Maybe I’ll take it down again.