Muddled … that’s been the problem.
Awhile back I couldn’t, for the life of me, find my way out of a (small) parking garage. My family, colleagues and students have laughed with (I’m pretty sure it’s with, not at) me and my inability to focus, to remember. I start one task and get so easily diverted to another, forgetting the first one completely.
It all started the day I got the call from across the country, when packing a suitcase seemed the hardest thing in the world (mostly noted when I arrived to see what I had forgotten to pack).
Since that day in late November I have had times of sitting at my computer, oblivious to the unknown minutes that have past since I last tapped a letter on the keyboard. It is as if my brain takes an unexpected hiatus from the body where it is contained … I wonder where it has gone.
I will be helping a student with their math (an area where the pathways in my brain are still firing on all cylinders), the bell will ring and I have no idea whether that was the first or last bell of the day.
I’ll walk determinedly into a room and have no idea why I am there … actually, I am fifty and that is unchanged.
It is said, of some, that the death of a loved one can leave you feeling as if you have lost a part of yourself. I have felt as though I have lost an anchor and am like a boat adrift, moving aimlessly at the discretion of the waves, while, at the same time, looking unchanged, normal, capable.
Most days I function just fine, then my brain simply goes on vacation and I am left with a momentary void. Or I am left struggling to conjure up where my sentence was going. Or, I sit at the computer and cannot, for the life of me come up with anything to write about.
This muddled brain leaves me feeling confusion and insecurity like a boat, unmoored, drifting out to sea, directionless.
Then I read the following words:
Grief, in its excruciating form, is love that no longer has a place to belong.
This muddled mind, this brain adrift … symptoms of a love that has lost it’s mark, it’s destined port. So, it drifts, taking ones senses with it, searching for that which is gone … it’s gone …
he’s gone
and there is no coming back.
“To him who is able to keep you from stumbling …
to the only God our Savior … ”
Jude 1:24
itsawonderfilledlife 
“… that the death of a loved one can leave you feeling as if you have lost a part of yourself.” You have. You’ve lost the part that they saw, their memories of who you were during a part of your life. That perspective of you is gone, and it yearns to be recognized. Only that person could remind you of who you were, what you did, how you laughed when… No one else can fill in those memories. No one else can join you in laughing over when as teens the boys chased you through a starlit campground and you double flipped over someone’s tent rope that took down the sleeping campers’ tent, and left you with monster bruises on your thighs that you just couldn’t explain to your parents… and tell you what your face looked like, or how your hair flew… Those fleeting memories are now more faded with no one else to recall them. A part of you has been ripped away, and the brain is trying to adjust so it goes to pause, and the healing begins. The real mystery is how we must all go through this yet our voices are so quiet. Thanks for sharing of the healing process in the quiet of my sacred place and not have me melt into a puddle of tears in pubic. 😉 Greatly appreciated!
Becky,
Thanks so much for your response. I am glad to have read it in my sacred space (and for the same reason). It was this: “The real mystery is how we must all go through this yet our voices are so quiet.” This social norm keeps me “baring all” here as a small voice seems to keep whispering to me, “Share what you’re walking through. Speak of grief out loud. Give words to the quiet, preparation to those who don’t yet know. Show the grief you’re carrying … it doesn’t go away, but you, through faith, you learn to let God help to carry it.” (and hubby, he says others need to know they are not alone in their grief … not that I’m always so good at listening to him 😉).
Carole
I totally understand! Thank you for sharing! It takes effort sometimes to get the brain to work for you! Take your time! I find that a silent pause is good and will help to redirect. Strength and God’s peace as you journey!
So good to hear from you, Wilma! I hope you are doing well! Congrats on becoming a Great Grandma – it will be an exciting August! Hugs!
Wilma,
So lovely to see your comment ❤️. The silent pause … I do love that (might also prevent one from saying what one shouldn’t as well 😉). And may God continue to strengthen and use you as you follow him with such adoration it shines from you.
Carole
Thanks to both of you! Yes, I will be a great Oma!! Love it! The baby blankets, hats and toys are ready for each grandchild’s baby.
Yes, it has been a long and difficult journey for me but God was shining through ! Sometimes rather shaded, but most of the time very real! My rock!
“ Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable.
Be honest and transparent anyway! “.
Mother Teresa
❤️❤️❤️