I made it to work yesterday but felt like I was walking around in a bubble. Everyone's voices were either distant and muffled or harsh, shocking me out of my thoughts of Dad. Lots of kindness was received which made me feel better and worse, better and worse. I couldn't quite think through a problem or finish a sentence.
After a sleepless night, that ended in apocalyptic dreams of being chased by awkward and unfeasible dinosaur monsters, unrealistic costume beasts like on a 70s episode of Doctor Who, now I can't seem to get out of bed.
Guilt is soaking my bones. There is so much work to do. So much. A day off is ridiculous.
But today seems to be the day of tears and there is not a damn thing I can do about that.
I've never been great for soldiering on.
It's been such a wild ride this last week. Days of trauma, of busyness, of family of friends, spirit and joy: all distractions from the sadness.
Now that the quiet has returned with the pressures of normal life and work, the sadness is filling me up.
A friend sent me this message last week and it describes the sensation exactly -
"It is so massive the passing of a parent. Like a high speed squash ball to the heart wall."
I guess it's okay then, for the heart, to fall apart a little.