the days roll by disconnected

More than a week has passed since I became closely acquainted with death, and still I'm struggling to come to terms with this turn of events. Time seems to have taken on a different character; each day seems to last an eternity and it's become so easy to loose track of how much time has actually passed since that endless night when the sun set forever on John's life.

I did well enough the first few days; I think I was on auto-pilot to get through the funeral. And then we came home, which, for some reason, has been the hardest part. It's like it wasn't real to me while we were in Jackson; it was more like some hazy dream. It wasn't until I got back on the well-worn streets of New Orleans that it hit me with the force of a hurricane: I'll never again go home to see my dear sweet father-in-law. And then the tears came in a flood.

The tears have since dried up, but the sadness lingers. I feel immensely apathetic and the simplest tasks require me to summon super-human strength. Or so it seems.

I know there's nothing to do but work through it. I'm not pushing myself too hard, though; I'm temporarily lowering my expectations of myself, telling myself it's okay to feel this hurt and emptiness, and that I shouldn't be expected to bounce right back to my usually over-achieving self. Because I know that this sadness will pass; the void will always remain, but the acute pain of the loss will ease with time. And so it will go that, in time, I will bounce back to my usual level of productivity.

For the time being though, I'll let myself take it slow, and let the sadness wrap me in its misty embrace. As more days turn into more weeks and those weeks turn into months, it will get easier.