I am finding grief to be a challenge to my practical side. I like to be logical and efficient, and grief is nothing of the sort.
Being practical feels disloyal to Samuel, and comes with a steep price of guilt.
(Please don’t remind me that I shouldn’t feel guilty. I know. This isn’t logical, remember?)
For example, it really doesn’t matter if I go to the cemetery over the summer. It is a long drive, and it is emotionally hard on my other two kids. I’m not even driving right now. Still, not visiting feels neglectful, as if somehow fresh flowers are a measure of my love and grief.
I keep running out of hangers when I’m putting away Jana and Michael’s clothes. All of Samuel’s clothes are still in his closet, and I could use those hangers. But that feels like benefiting from his death. Like it’s fortunate that I don’t have to buy new ones, because he doesn’t need them anymore. I can’t do it. I’ll buy new ones.
Being a family of four is less troublesome than being a family of five. We fit in a hotel room again. It is easier to get a table at a restaurant. The kids don’t fight over how we sit on the couch anymore, I have an arm for each. The package of hamburger buns divides evenly.
I hate all of it.
The guilt in being aware of these things is tremendous.
I notice them, because I notice Samuel’s absence in everything. I still feel guilty for noticing.
I’d give anything to have him back.