Despite my body and brain’s best efforts, I went to yoga class tonight. My mind (and stomach) tried to get me to stay home to continue on my 5-hour spree of catching up on Oprah episodes while eating grated parmigiana out of a plastic container. But somehow I prevailed. Not that I didn’t enjoy my day – I rewarded myself for staying in last night and skipping drinking for sleep with a tasty everything bagel with smoked salmon, capers and cream cheese, washed down with some coffee and a Vitamin Water. Then I thought about cleaning up all the clothes I’ve let gather on my closet and on the bedroom floor while enjoying a couple hours of Wolf Blitzer talking about something important. I put some shit away. I listened to to new Band of Horses CD. I sat in front of my computer and checked Facebook 100 times, then I thought about downloading Britney’s new album and instead found all the IMs between me and my mom that I’d saved since she got sick and died. Then I read those a billion times and did some serious weeping. Then I discovered the cheese, Oprah, and archives of random blogs that I felt like reading. In my dark times of sadness, these three things are my father, son and holy ghost.
I really wanted to go to yoga tonight because I’m feeling extra teary and sad today, so I thought it would help me burn some of that depressed energy that digs a nice whole into my chest, like a bird bath waiting to be filled with rain. I ended up getting SO into class that I almost killed the girl on the mat next to me trying to get up into tripod headstand. I was all pumped because I was able to get up into the pose without resting my legs on my arms first, but was flying up from the core of my stomach and leg power alone. Exciting stuff for me! Even better, I was balancing without using the wall. Then I did it like 5 times. On the sixth try I couldn’t quite get to the wall and I toppled over to the left, crashing down on yogi girl next to me. I made such a thud that my teacher turned around (oh and the whole fucking class) to ask if I was okay. The girl was nice enough to talk to me for a minute to make me feel better about almost using my ankles to crush her skull, but it was still mortifying. I like to blend right into the floor in yoga class, so drawing attention to myself – especially the dorky kind like falling out of a pose and almost killing someone – really made me feel dumb. Tonight was a bad night for me to be that eager yoga nerd who couldn’t cut it.
Today it has been exactly 8 months since my mom died, which blows my mind, even more so because my mom lived for a little bit longer than 8 months after her diagnosis. I feel like I spend a lot of time dragging my feet against time. I don’t want it to be this long. I don’t know what I do want, but I know it’s not this. What’s that thing yoga people always say about trying to be content in the now, in the moment? It’s a lot harder to do that when your now sucks and your wallowing a lot in that suckage. Still sometimes I feel like an asshole for being so bogged down with grief. There are so many people facing so much worse – who am I to be so depressed when I have a wonderful family, fiance, job and circle of friends – and also a a really cute new shirt from Anthropologie?
A lot of people have very kindly told me that they like this blog and wish I would write more. The infrequent posts are a result of not wanting to clutter the internet with my tearful ramblings about my journey through grief. It’s both cathartic and embarrassing to put this stuff out there, and it often results in friends telling me that they’re sad that I’m sad, which makes me feel bad for making others feel sad – though I really appreciate the obvious love and concern my pals have for me and my wellbeing. Still, it has gotten me thinking about our culture’s relationship with sadness and grief and mourning. I find a lot of people want desperately (er, myself included) to not have me feel sad, when it seems to be the natural process of things. I’ve noticed when I fight the urge to feel sad or cry, it only makes it worse. So I’m learning that it’s probably better just to go through the sadness and really experience it, right? I’m not talking about depression – that’s a whole other ballgame – but rather straight up grief. I’ve got a lot of grieving left to do and it’s going to take me a while. I think I need to be more okay with that than I am.