I tend to think about Derek carefully. Not so much regarding what I think about, but how I think about him.
I probe about the edges of memories. I picture him fleetingly. I’m wary. I treat my memories as though they are dangerous places. I’m scared. I dart in and out, never sticking around for long enough to feel any pain, well, any significant amount of pain. I keep myself safe. I protect myself. The moment pain or sorrow begins to creep in, I’m out of there. I always keep a safe memory at hand, ready to jump to – my kids, or Jo, or something about work. I don’t want to deal with those feelings. I deny them. I squash them the moment they arise. I don’t have time for grief. Who has time for grief? Who has time for grief while living life? While working, going to school, raising kids, being married?
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I understand this isn’t ideal, but I’m not sure what to do. Like I said, how does one grieve while still trying to live? I haven’t figured that out yet.