Grief no longer engulfs me as it once did.
It’s become less and less with time, as people warned me - promised me - it would.
But it is still here. Always. Instead of a constant downpour, sometimes it is hardly a rain at all. Nothing more than a light mist descending from the clouds, posing hardly a presence in the sky.
Most people wouldn’t even notice it. But I do. Because, of course, the microscopic water droplets are aimed only at me. Others are impervious. They will stay that way, until it becomes their time. Then the awareness will be pricked within them, too. I am sorry for that.
Grief no longer engulfs me, but some days are filled with - melancholy. A general feeling of malaise.
I wake up and linger. It takes me awhile to gather the gumption to get out of bed. When my feet finally do hit the floor I am immediately exhausted. I know I had things to do, but I can’t quite remember what they were, or maybe they just don’t feel very important anymore.
I feel very alone. Sometimes I cry, but even that feels old. How many tears can I shed without thinking I’m simply feeling sorry for myself.
Get a grip. These days don’t come often anymore - thank goodness. But when they do, they are inexplicable.
I languish on the couch. Not hungry. Tired - in need of a nap - but unable to sleep. It’s like feeling sick without being sick.
That, I guess, is a pretty good definition of grief. But I’ve decided to change the branding a bit. We all have off days when we feel like doing nothing, or at least when we get nothing done. When melancholy overshadows all the other well-meaning things we had planned.
It doesn’t take grief to cause an unproductive day. It can be all sorts of life obstacles. Boredom. A strained relationship. Stress at work. Politics. Money problems. The weight of raising a family. Worries about the state of the world. All of it.
I’ve come up with a term that serves as my rescue at such times. Snow day. As a child, a snow day was a magical, miraculous event. It was Mother Nature’s way of making us all take a break - from school, from work, from life.
Sort of like what a cloud of melancholy will do. Both melancholy and snow can make us take a break - take a day. They cause us to pause and simply do nothing.
It doesn’t matter what climate you live in, or whether it’s winter or summer. A snow day is always in season.
And that’s how I’ve come to think about grief. Sometimes it cancels an hour or a day for me, but that’s okay. When it happens, I declare it a snow day, and somehow that puts a positive spin on things. It’s my secret code - now shared with you.
It’s a way to say it without really saying it. Snow day. I’m willing to give Mother Nature the power. Not so willing to give it to grief.
So snow day works for me. Even in Florida.
Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, published playwright and author. Don’t miss a slice; follow the Slices of Life page on Facebook.
