A story of grief by a man and a boy
Some days are really hard: some because something specific happens and others because nothing specific happens at all. These days I find the latter the most challenging; the days when I can’t put on my finger on what’s wrong with me are suffocating. They are the days when I don’t want to talk to anyone at all because I can’t explain how I feel and because I don’t even want to have to try. I’ve only ever met two people with sufficiently contradictory vocabulary to express this feeling. When asked to summarise what was affecting their mood, both Desreen and Jackson would respond with the same answer: ‘Just everything!’
What I’m starting to find particularly challenging is that, since Desreen’s death, grief is always to blame. It’s boring; I feel like there’s no longer any diversity to my melancholy or bad temper. I find myself to be a completely one-dimensional misery. And, when I think logically, this lack of depth doesn’t really make sense to me because of course I also had bad days before my wife was killed. The problem now, however, is that the bad days seem to spiral. When I feel miserable about something I can’t identify, the grief presents itself. And when the grief presents itself, I feel more miserable still. And when I start to feel more miserable than I felt in the first place, the grief intensifies. And then I think I’m having a bad day because of the grief. And then I wonder if the grief is now so deeply entrenched that it was the cause all along.
I suppose some days just everything makes you feel bad. It’s just too bad that these days the ‘everything’ part feels a whole lot bigger than it used to.