Competent, but tired

The anniversary of Sandy's death was difficult, as were the weeks before it. "Difficult" — such an understatement. Each day, I relived what we'd experienced the year before while also navigating 2012's challenges, and always I felt abandoned. My brain was pretty busy. I tried to remind myself of that every time I said or did something boneheaded, as I lost my ability to articulate my thoughts or manage social situations gracefully. (Actually, I don't know how well I did socially. My ability to gauge my behavior was also missing; instead, I just assumed I was botching every encounter.)

I asked what photo says "competence" and this is what flashed
on my laptop. Figures. Sandy had a hard time standing on one
leg, so managing it, even with a stick to lean on, made her
feel competent. I don't understand why it was so hard for her,
when she had great balance on ladders and bicycles.

About a week after she died a second time (for me), I was relieved to find my emotions evening out. I still felt grief, certainly, but not disabling despair. It's been two weeks since the fog lifted, and I've been enjoying a sense of competency again. I'm thinking more clearly, moving through the world more easily, and engaging in a variety of community activities. And I'm very, very tired. Not physically tired. Emotionally tired.

In addition to the marriage referendum campaign and my work with the National Breast Cancer Coalition, I've gotten involved with the Central Seattle Greenways group (identifying and creating a calm, safe route for people of all ages to walk and bike through our neighborhood), phonebanked for a state Supreme Court race, rode 92.5 miles in the Seattle Century (the 85-mile route plus 7.5 miles to the start line) and have been riding other long days to prepare for the upcoming RSVP (Seattle to Vancouver, B.C.), and I've been pretty social with family and friends. Oh, and I'm working on a book and trying to get the garden into shape. When I write it like that, it makes sense that I'm feeling a little overwhelmed.

But I don't think it's those activities that tire me. Most of them are energizing. Instead, it's this feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something else. I always feel like I'm neglecting something. At unexpected quiet moments, I actually hear myself say out loud, "So, how do I get her back? What is it that I need to do?"

I often leave problems to "compost" in my brain as I go about other tasks. I've overcome many a writing hurdle in the garden, while showering, or as I'm puttering in the kitchen. I have aha! moments about kitty or house issues while biking or reading unrelated things. I don't always realize I'm thinking through a problem, but I recognize the resolution when it comes.

And no matter what I'm doing, no matter what other issue grabs my attention, there's one problem that persists in my life. My brain is constantly trying to solve the puzzle, figure out what it is I need to do to right my world again. Sandy's death remains wrong. And I can't leave wrong unchallenged. But I am so far powerless to make the change. So my brain whirs along, expending precious energy, seeking the solution, certain that there will once again be an aha! moment. I don't try to stop it — what if it really can come up with something? — and I don't know that I could stop it, anyway. So, for now at least, I'll be grateful that I feel competent again and learn to live with the emotional fatigue.