Looking back, I realize what a wild ride these past 4 months have been. I have made more decisions in 19 weeks than I had made in my previous 39 years. Decisions are exhausting. Mentally tiring.

Our vacation to Hawaii gave me some time to reflect. I remember how I felt in the first ten weeks or so after Mike’s death. How I literally could not concentrate for more than 3 or 4 minutes. I’d try to watch a comedy, a drama, a football game – anything – and could not focus. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin for the first time in my life. Like I had to move around and find something else to do, only to realize that I couldn’t concentrate on that, either. Really? What kind of sick joke is that? I can normally read a book for hours on end and be shocked at the sudden passage of time. To not even be able to get lost in a book for a second – completely unfair. At the exact moment in life when I needed to be able to “get away from it all” I was utterly unable to do so. Grrrrrr…..

And sleep….that was a thing of the past. Again, why? Why, when I most needed rest, was I unable to get a solid night of sleep? I needed to rest this brain in order to function the next day and instead I laid awake all night mentally listing the things I had to get done. I have historically been able to sleep anywhere, anytime. A train going by? No problem. Someone else on our trip snores? Put ’em in my room. Nothing could mess up a good night of sleep for me. I prided myself in my awesome sleep skills. One big brush with grief, and that biotch had stolen my slumber. That is SUBS (straight-up-bull-shit.) 

Interestingly enough, I (fingers crossed) seem to be past those two gargantuan problems. I gradually was able to start concentrating again. I smiled a secret smile to myself this week when Emrie got grumpy because she said “mom” about ten times before I heard her. Sigh of relief…there’s a little sliver of the old Kristie back because I was completely absorbed in a book! My return to normal sleep wasn’t as gradual. I had tried everything…lots of alcohol before bed, no alcohol before bed, Xanax, Tylenol PM, natural sleep aids (not all together, I promise), and really nothing seemed to clinch the deal. Finally, the exact moment that I made a decision on which house we were getting, I started sleeping just fine. I was completely out-of-whack and just being able to “control” my destiny regarding my living arrangements made a huge difference. Probably that and knowing that we would be getting out of the Emmett house pretty soon. I have such a love/hate relationship with that place – love the beautiful dream we envisioned for our family there – hate that that simple dream shattered the second Mike’s leg shattered. That, too, is SUBS. 

I guess the moral of the story is that I have realized how far I’ve come down this horrid path. I have still had some really super shitty moments. I have felt so alone and paralyzed by sadness that I cannot even move. But, I am feeling so much better than I was.  Maybe the shock has worn off. Maybe I’ve grown used to the icky feelings that grief throws over me, like an invisible net, so fine that I accidentally inhale it. Maybe I’m better because I’m surrounded by so much family and support. Don’t know, don’t care. Just damned glad that I’m feeling a little better.