In which grief slips up on me unexpectedly
Well, I'm home. Got in after midnight on Friday, and as we had jettisoned the idea of going to XX Year, that was OK. Turned out to be the right decision.
The last two weeks at work have been stressful and very tiring. I didn't sleep well - the hotel's air conditioning kept waking me up all night every night - and I suspect that in my weakened state my body was defenseless against the bug that my co-worker brought to Minnesota. *sniff* The work was more intense than usual, and the heat also weighed heavily on me.
After arriving so late on Friday night, I slept in a little Saturday morning, and then we went to the Farmer's Market in Cherry Creek and then to the Tattered Cover. Although both were thoroughly enjoyable destinations, I found that the lack of sleep, the heat, and possibly my too-early rising had gotten the better of me. I came home and crashed.
Sunday found Chris and myself re-discovering our family room (the "Hall"), which involved cleaning the corner of the garage vacated by the old piano. The garage has had some small residents that moved in last winter. Of course, there's no way to know if they ever moved out, or if the progeny remain. But the signs are everywhere - mouse poop on the floors, inside boxes, on shelves. I found the bag of leftover robin's eggs empty behind the wooden utility shelf, littered inside with mouse poop. I swept up piles of the stuff. They'd discovered a box full of styro peanuts and shredded the styro - I've been trying without much success to corral the shreds since the spring. It seems that every time I move something in the garage, there's more shredded styrofoam and mouse poop.
There's a trash can in the garage that usually serves to hold smallish boxes. I emptied that out and found two little bodies in the bottom. The mice had apparently gotten in and were unable to get out. They were huddled together. I could not help myself - I cried and cried. (Indeed, I cannot keep from crying as I write this.) It's not that the death of the mice bothered me so much - it's how they died. To suffer hunger or dehydration is a death no one should have to endure. Better that their deaths had been swift, the death of the prey.
Besides, I do rather like mice - they are one of the creatures that "go bump in the night", creatures that our collective unconsciousness fears irrationally but deeply. Yet they are food, and without them snakes would be hungrier and cats less entertained.
My mother said that it was her fault - she'd taught me to be so soft-hearted. This is true. But there's more. I think that I have never grieved fully in my life. I find it difficult to emphathise with the grief of others, simply because in doing so deep wounds might open with which I am ill prepared to deal. Better to shove those feelings down and carry on resolutely. After all (I rationalize) little respect is granted to people who let their feelings incapacitate them. While I can understand this, I am unable to let go.
I suppose I'll just suck it up and do whatever has to be done next. Again. Besides, I may have to go to Atlanta tomorrow.
The last two weeks at work have been stressful and very tiring. I didn't sleep well - the hotel's air conditioning kept waking me up all night every night - and I suspect that in my weakened state my body was defenseless against the bug that my co-worker brought to Minnesota. *sniff* The work was more intense than usual, and the heat also weighed heavily on me.
After arriving so late on Friday night, I slept in a little Saturday morning, and then we went to the Farmer's Market in Cherry Creek and then to the Tattered Cover. Although both were thoroughly enjoyable destinations, I found that the lack of sleep, the heat, and possibly my too-early rising had gotten the better of me. I came home and crashed.
Sunday found Chris and myself re-discovering our family room (the "Hall"), which involved cleaning the corner of the garage vacated by the old piano. The garage has had some small residents that moved in last winter. Of course, there's no way to know if they ever moved out, or if the progeny remain. But the signs are everywhere - mouse poop on the floors, inside boxes, on shelves. I found the bag of leftover robin's eggs empty behind the wooden utility shelf, littered inside with mouse poop. I swept up piles of the stuff. They'd discovered a box full of styro peanuts and shredded the styro - I've been trying without much success to corral the shreds since the spring. It seems that every time I move something in the garage, there's more shredded styrofoam and mouse poop.
There's a trash can in the garage that usually serves to hold smallish boxes. I emptied that out and found two little bodies in the bottom. The mice had apparently gotten in and were unable to get out. They were huddled together. I could not help myself - I cried and cried. (Indeed, I cannot keep from crying as I write this.) It's not that the death of the mice bothered me so much - it's how they died. To suffer hunger or dehydration is a death no one should have to endure. Better that their deaths had been swift, the death of the prey.
Besides, I do rather like mice - they are one of the creatures that "go bump in the night", creatures that our collective unconsciousness fears irrationally but deeply. Yet they are food, and without them snakes would be hungrier and cats less entertained.
My mother said that it was her fault - she'd taught me to be so soft-hearted. This is true. But there's more. I think that I have never grieved fully in my life. I find it difficult to emphathise with the grief of others, simply because in doing so deep wounds might open with which I am ill prepared to deal. Better to shove those feelings down and carry on resolutely. After all (I rationalize) little respect is granted to people who let their feelings incapacitate them. While I can understand this, I am unable to let go.
I suppose I'll just suck it up and do whatever has to be done next. Again. Besides, I may have to go to Atlanta tomorrow.
posted by Melanie Unruh-Bays at
10:22 PM
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