Sadness

My father-in-law passed away a month ago. This is my husband’s father, my children’s grandfather. It was totally unexpected, and very sudden. One minute he was alive, and then he wasn’t. No one even had a chance to say good-bye. I tried to write in my diary about it, but I couldn’t manage more than one sentence. I haven’t been able to post here, either.

In a way, I feel like it’s not really my loss to mourn. My sadness pales in comparison to my husband’s and his mother’s. I’m surprised, actually, by my response. I didn’t know how much I valued him. (Isn’t there a song about that, you don’t know what you had ‘til it’s gone? Joni Mitchell comes to mind.)

I have had a lot of crazy, strange thoughts lately. Seeing my mother-in-law suffering, it has occurred to me that it would probably be better not to get too attached to my husband, because he’ll probably die first. I feel like I don’t want to rely on him too much, because I’ll end up alone eventually, so why bother?

My husband went away on a conference for a few days, and I found myself playing a little game in my head, pretending that he was actually gone forever, and what would I do now. I went grocery shopping and thought about whether I would prepare different meals if I wasn’t cooking for him. I bought a new garbage can, and I chose one that didn’t have to be assembled or installed, because I didn’t want to have to rely on him to help me with it.

I have also spent some time wondering what is the point of living. What is the point of doing anything? I’m just going to die. What is the point of trying to live more sustainably and using fewer resources? Wouldn’t it be better for the environment if I just died now? What is the point of working on my marriage? We’re both just going to die. I have wondered at what point I am supposed to seek professional help. Is this type of thinking totally normal, or should I really talk to someone?

My poor, long-suffering husband. Not only does he have to deal with the loss of his father and try to comfort his grieving mother, he has to try to understand his slightly psychotic wife.

No matter how much I ask myself about the purpose of life and question what I am doing here, I wake up every morning and find that I am in fact still alive. It’s like a surprise every morning: “Oh look, I’m still here. Why am I still here?” It is a good thing I have children, because they have needs that must be met, so I get out of bed and feed them, and read to them, and play with them, and take them places.

Fortunately, the weather has warmed up considerably lately, and I am making an effort to get out into the sunshine and walk and feel alive instead of going through the motions. We are going skiing next week, and when I come back I will be starting all my seeds for my garden, which certainly represents spring, life, and renewal. Somehow, I suppose, life marches on, and after experiencing this death in my family, life is more of a mystery to me than it ever was before.