A thousand cuts
Grief is a thousand tiny cuts.
My daily routine includes checking my emails and responding as needed, then checking Facebook, with an aim to write and/or encourage by reposting quotes and pictures from other people. My own writing sometimes comes out only on Facebook, sometimes only on my blog. I occasionally post the same thing in both places, with minor changes. This system works well most days; I don’t schedule anything outside my house before noon unless absolutely necessary.
But I find that the process of interacting virtually with people, even at a distance, wears down my energy. I feel low, tired, sad, even mournful. I am very blessed, with family that love me and that I love. I’m in a good house in a good neighborhood. I have food and clothes. I own a vehicle that works. My friends greet me and hug when we meet. I hold no grudges and try not to hurt anyone. My teen children hug and talk with me; they even seek out my company sometimes. The sun shines; the plants grow. The birds sing. There’s enough rain that I don’t need to water my garden. There are very few noxious plants, and very little dangerous wildlife, with harmless and interesting animals passing on their own business. My yard requires some maintenance, not too much. Several food-bearing plants thrive, some of them fruiting.
I know about Jesus Christ. I can repent and be forgiven. I choose to forgive others, almost every time. I’m working on forgiving more consistently. My temple garments remind me of my temple covenants and attendant blessings. I’ve experienced God’s protection and grace directly. Several of my family members have decided not to follow Jesus Christ, which saddens me, but they still forgive and try to love each other and serve people. Their kindness and service encourage me. I know they will be blessed for the good they do. I wish they were not filling the letting-go-of-God part of the pride cycle, but they get to choose. They will receive the consequences of their choices.
No, the reasons for my sadness, for most of my life misnamed “feeling tired”, are complex and tiny. My son successfully completed five performances of Fiddler on the Roof with his theater group and wanted a frame for the poster he brought home. Rather than buy a frame, I got out some certificates that were hung in my husband’s office. They’re doing no good in storage; my son took one of the frames. But thinking about my husband, feeling his loss, remembering what he did to earn those military certificates and how I felt during the year he was gone, as well as the retirement party the National Guard threw for him… all these mingled feelings take energy to process. And this is only one of the things to deal with today!
