On some mornings, you wake up completely paralysed on the inside. It feels like you’re lying under a pile of huge rocks and  there isn’t much you can do about it. That’s the kind of morning-turned-day I’m having. 

I rolled out of bed (literally) and stood in the shower for about 30 minutes doing nothing. There’s something very soothing about hot water running over your body; especially in the morning.

Anyway, after the shower, I sat on my bed and opened my instagram notifications. And both my siblings had posted about my father, and how it’s been two months since we buried him. He was lifting one of my baby nieces in the picture. He looked so happy. And then I involuntarily started thinking about him, not the wisest thing to do before a work day, but I couldn’t help it.

Anyway, I’ve been experiencing a myriad of emotions since November. To begin with, I was struck with terrible anxiety; the kind that kept me awake for over a month and killed my appetite for everything except KFC  (because fried chicken cures everything). Over time, that anxiety morphed into numbness. I think this has something to do with the fact that I had to go back to work which meant feigning some sort of strength lest you totally break down. In any case, there’s only so long most people can tolerate basket cases for. It’s been 2 months for crying out loud, are you seriously still crying?

And then there was the guilt. Guilt I was eventually made to realise was unwarranted. I could have gotten to the hospital sooner. I could have been the last person he saw before he closed his eyes. Instead, I was fast asleep because the doctors saw no need to let us know he was in critical condition. And when they eventually decided to move him to ICU, I didn’t get there fast enough. I was a few minutes too late. On the one hand, I know i said goodbye. I hugged and kissed him the last time i saw him four days before he died and that’s extremely comforting. I’ve always been so big on goodbye. I’m the kind of person who’ll reach the top of  the road and then turn back because I didn’t say goodbye. Thank God for that.

I dream about that morning many times a week, and each time, the outcome is different; he doesn’t die, he bounces back like he always did in the past.

Some days are worse than others when you’re dealing with grief. And on those days, it’s best to allow it. Today is one of those days. And I’ve allowed it.

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2 thoughts on “Write to heal (3 )

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