My Journey Through Grief, -A Man’s Perspective, #3

(I wrote the following two months ago in an attempt to chronicle a man’s journey through grief.) As I grieve Mary Helen’s homegoing I’m counselled to, “Just do the next thing.” But why? What’s the point? Mary Helen’s not here. I am alone and almost 87. Why bother with all the effort, all the things to do? It all seems so useless. Unless maybe by putting my thoughts in writing, I can help someone else through this morass of grief.

It sounds so easy; “just do the next thing.” It’s been four weeks since God called Mary Helen home. I try but my resolve lasts about half an hour. Then…

I go into the bedroom to get something. The quilt is not quite straight. I tidy it up as Mary Helen would have wanted. But wait, I came in here for something else. What was it? I haven’t a clue. So, I leave.

I wander back to the coffee maker. Why is it not working? The lights blink. Did I put in a K cup? I can’t remember, so I lift the lever. Yes, there’s one in there, but is it a used one from last time? Hum. I’ll have to take a chance. Press the brew button. If the coffee is weak, I’ll know. …Hum, not bad, I must have put one in and forgot to hit the button. I doctor my cup to just the right colour and set it down on the counter.

I move to the sink, soak the dishes. Wait, wasn’t I going to drink a coffee? Where is it? Oh, there by the frig. I take a sip. Yuck, it’s lukewarm. So I heat it up in the microwave.

While it’s heating, I put away some stuff on the counter from breakfast. I stare at the pile of things to do on the dining room table, turn away and wander over to my recliner to pick up the book for the book club. Where is my coffee? Oh, I left it in the microwave.

The day progresses that way. Wandering from room to room. Forgetting to put the washing in the dryer. Forgetting where my phone is.

The dining table is piled high with things to do. But I have no motivation to clear it up. I glance at the detailed to-do-list on my whiteboard. Well, I’ve crossed off three or four. Anyway, who cares if I do those things today or next week? Tears come unbidden.

The next day, I cut an orange into segments and then leave it all day on the counter uneaten while I go off shopping.

Is this the onset of the unmentionable, or the confusion that loneliness brings?

__ATA.cmd.push(function() { __ATA.initDynamicSlot({ id: 'atatags-26942-629fa30261ad9', location: 120, formFactor: '001', label: { text: 'Advertisements', }, creative: { reportAd: { text: 'Report this ad', }, privacySettings: { text: 'Privacy', onClick: function() { window.__tcfapi && window.__tcfapi( 'showUi' ); }, } } }); });