As I write this it has been four weeks to the day since my dog died, and I am still finding it difficult… almost impossible, really, to think. So each day I come to write my blog and all I can think of is how hard it has been to have lost him, and to wonder whether my new dog will be content here.
Certainly this is not of strong interest for my readers – yet what can I do? More days than not I stare at my computer screen, or at the paper I am holding, and nothing comes out.
I am obsessed with things that I cannot change, and brought to my knees by things that many people experience. To love and to live means to experience pain. No one wants that, and I recognize that it hurts most people deeply.
The difference is they are able to learn to live with that loss, where I fixate, and obsess, and am incapable of looking or even thinking beyond the experience which has invaded my world. Since I am incapable of functioning, or thinking, or even trying new things during these times in my life, every attempt to do something real – to interact with the world around me – results in failure.
For in these moments, days, years, I do not feel like I am part of the world. I see it. I hear it. I feel it. But I am not a part of it. It even looks different to me, as if I am seeing it through a screen, or looking through a dark veil. It sounds different to me, too, as if I am listening to a recording and not to what is happening right now.
How am I supposed to respond to a world that doesn’t seem real? How am I supposed to interact with a world that causes such pain? How am I supposed to write, and work, and be, and do, when my mind is set on repeat?
I wait. I pray. I focus on my new dog – for she alone is able to change my focus. And I hope that I will not upset or offend people during this time to the point that when I do get beyond the moment, I would be ashamed, and they would be lost to me.
Extended grieving in an impatient world. I can only hope they understand.