It’s been a month since I wrote a blog. Often these days, my mind acts as a sieve, thoughts of what I should be doing flow out almost before they register. Meanwhile, my should-do list keeps growing longer. I’m told it’s the brain fog of grief.
A few months back, I blogged about my trickster garage door, which would reopen once my back was turned. That improved after I swept the debris from the bottom of the door to prevent triggering the sensors. But not always. My final recourse was to practice Mindfulness. I would back out and wait for the door to fully close before driving off. But again, I would forget to wait. Pangs of conscience would descend, sometimes soon enough to double–check, other times not. My mind was too full, overwhelmed with caregiving concerns. I’m calling that Mind-Fullness.
Nowadays, the garage door gives me no trouble. That’s because it’s easy to pause, to mindfully assure myself the garage is sealed before driving off.
Grief is a strange country. A strange country, indeed. I feel off-balance most of the time, overwhelmed by an entirely different kind of Mind-Fullness.
Right now, Sophie and I are both suffering from too much alone time. Sophie’s humans have shrunk from two to one, and she stays very close whenever I’m home. In fact, sometimes so close that I’m in danger of tripping over her.
Yet, when I consider seeking out other people, I look at my untouched work and think, How can I desert all this? all the while knowing I won’t accomplish anything by staying home. But— Who wants the company of a stuck-in-the-mud creature like me?
Yesterday I gave up pushing my balky self to do what I didn’t want to do. What was the use? Instead, I paid attention to what was going on inside.
Once I stopped fighting my resistance to doing, something happened. My mindfulness translated into actually accomplishing four items. In the space of little over an hour, I visited the post office, had a dental check-up, picked up mail at my son’s house while he’s out of town, and—drumroll please!—renewed a project dropped months ago to have an outside door rehung.
MIndfulness works. It opens doors as well as assuring me of their closures.
Last evening, I left for a quick walk before dark and found my neighbor outside, in tears. Her grief is even newer than my own. Her presence was a gift, a reminder that I am not alone. What was I doing shutting myself away behind doors, not only house doors, but brain fog doors as well?
The two of us walked. We agreed that her once-a-month grief therapy and my once-a-month book group were nowhere near enough. We will begin weekly walks together, to the benefit of us both.
One more step back into the world.
Kate Harrington 