Busy with distractions

I’m normally quite reflective. Tend to over think life a bit perhaps. Except it’s not helping lately – when I sit down to write, I get sad and I don’t want to be sad.

My uncle died last week. I keep thinking I’ll write about it, but I haven’t finished anything. We weren’t overly close – no need for sympathy – but he was, until several years ago, around. I loved him and wanted him to be happy, though he was the most negative person I’ve known.

Dad is subdued – trying to settle the estate with his sister, arranging to retrieve the wrecked vehicle, taking phone calls from people who knew his brother.

Mom’s procedure went well this morning. Perhaps that’s not exactly true – she’s in a lot of pain right now and loopy from the anesthesia. I listened patiently while she told me the same story 3 times when I got home from work. She closed each telling of the story with a weak “I wish you were here.” And it hurt my heart each time.

Jill, a friend from work, has been out with an illness for some time now. I went to visit her yesterday and took gifts from everyone at work. It was lovely – really, truly wonderful and I’m glad I went – but seeing someone who has always been vibrant and healthy looking pained and tired is difficult.

You may not see it from reading here, but I really am generally happy. I smile at people. Laugh easily and often. Have a great deal of hope that life works out for everyone. Think people are far more good than bad. But I lately find myself drifting toward grief in spare moments. Went to take a nap on Saturday – between my many showers that yard work made absolutely necessary – and unexpectedly cried until I was sick.

I find the same thing happens when I try to write. I’m alone with my thoughts and there’s not much funny or sweet or interesting. And while being alone and feeling inadequate are somewhat sad, I can usually smile at my tendency toward the dramatic in examining them. But when people get sick or die? That’s bad. It’s worth some tears and genuine mourning.

So I’m doing that. But being sad hurts. So the advice I received was to keep busy. I am. Talking to people and being productive at home and doing my job at work. In those moments, I’m content. Peaceful. I smile and laugh and respond to email and phone calls. I make progress on manuscripts and move forward with projects. I organized my pantry and closets. Moved some furniture to the attic and rearranged my bedroom. Ran errands and cleaned. I watch television mindlessly when I’m tired, only going to bed when I’m sure I can fall asleep immediately. Thinking just hurts so I try to avoid it most of the time.

Perhaps I’m just finding my balance. Trying to heal a little bit before I can feel stable and normal again. Until then, there’s not much to say. I can list all the tasks I accomplished today or we can talk about how scary death is. How it’s just as painful to lose someone who wasted opportunities as someone who didn’t get a chance to see many of hers materialize. How physical illness can rob someone of their own sunny personality.

See? Not fun. So tomorrow, I have an appointment for a car problem, then need to pick up contacts. I have a meeting followed by a seminar. Need to touch base on one of the projects I’m working on. Have a pile of work I haven’t dealt with yet tonight because I was busy grilling then eating then cleaning up. Did some work on cleaning my garage but haven’t finished yet…