That was me, walking down Amsterdam Avenue on the Upper West Side last night carrying a huge heavy bag from Trader Joe's and crying like a baby. Yep. Just a little bit embarrassing. Why last night? Was grocery shopping really that traumatic? I have no idea. It just hit me in the produce section and knocked me down and I couldn't get up again. Big snotty tears and gasping and boo-hooing. I wanted to sit down in the middle of the sidewalk and just give up. No more of this "one foot in front of the other" charade. Done.
I guess anyone going through severe grief has probably felt this way, but it's hard to believe that this is within the normal range of human feeling. It really does feel like someone is hitting me over the head with a hammer, again and again and again. Or punching me in the stomach and I can't breathe. It actually physically hurts. For a person like me, who is determined to get her own way in all things, come hell or high water, it is extremely difficult to accept that I can't summon my father. I need him so much right now. There are things I need to talk to him about. Important life stuff, and I really really need to know what he thinks I should do. RIGHT NOW. I cannot abide him not being available. I miss him so much that every part of my body hurts.
Is talking about this really supposed to help? The only thing I think will help is my father coming back and putting his arms around me. When I close my eyes and concentrate, I can almost feel him, smell him, hear him. I do this until it feels like I really can conjure him out of the air by force of will, and then I open my eyes and he isn't here.