Dislocated. Discombobulated. Disconnected. Disengaged. Disjointed. Disrupted. Disarranged. Disoriented.
My career for 10 years or so was in hospice bereavement support. I facilitated groups of all sorts and one of my handouts contained many words used to describe the emotional/physical/spiritual elements of grief.
In the year since my husband Chuck died, I’ve come up with totally different words to describe my grief. I call them the dis words. Each one of them is more accurate than any words I used back then.
He and I spent 4 years traveling the USA together. He was my home. I was his. He died. I belong nowhere any longer. I still live on the road, in a small pink-trimmed trailer, towed by a pink car. I drive and drive and drive and I honestly don’t see a damn thing. I’m truly dislocated.
My brain is foggy. You want to hear something pathetic? I tried a shirt on in a dressing room the other day, after removing my t-shirt. The other shirt didn’t fit and I removed it and when I looked around, I couldn’t find my t-shirt. Anywhere (and the space was small, as dressing rooms are). And I actually questioned myself as to whether I’d been wearing a shirt when I entered the dressing room! That’s how much I distrust my awareness these days. I was sure I’d worn a shirt in because how could I not? And yet I couldn’t find it, which made me doubt I’d worn one. (Yes, I did find it, finally, after starting to sweat for a few minutes. It had fallen underneath the bench).
As I drive this country, I see that, yes, of course, there is so much beauty. Sunsets are beautiful. I love my kids. I meet people who hug me and I hug them back. I know I must feel something but it doesn’t penetrate to my heart. I feel disconnected from everything. And that worries me.
My heart races continually, my blood races underneath my skin and my nerves are on top of my skin. Body under major stress, I know and I know what I can do about it, in part, (physical exercise and meditation) but, quite frankly, I have no energy to do anything and can’t seem to get organized enough to add it into my days. I’m disoriented.
Dis words. These and many more describe me best in this, my second year without him. My world has turned upside down, inside out and there is not one single thing I do or think about in my days or nights that doesn’t pound it into my soul again that he is forever gone.
Its all about survival right now. Just survive today then survive tonight. Repeat.