Journal entry 35
(The following is taken from
my journal during the first year of grief.)
The shadows of the dead weigh
heavy, like thick humid air when dark storm clouds approach.
I’m not in control anymore.
Forces I can’t see push me around like an ocean. Every day life flows by but I
can’t connect. Every few days people bring food and I eat. They send cards or
call and leave messages that I won’t return. Words have lost their meaning.
Colors mute to gray. Every day I excuse myself, sit on the side of the world
and watch it flow by, unable to move, unable to care what happens to me or to
anyone.
* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *
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