Stop the Novocaine

It seems my brain can no longer handle the emotional rollercoaster.  I want to write, to continue this dialogue I have begun, but my heart has shut down for the moment.  Perhaps this is a form of self preservation?  A survival instinct?  I sit down to coffee, lunch or dinner with friends and I find myself lost for words.  For those who know me, this is very out of the ordinary.  Sure, in the weeks and immediate months afterwards I shut down and shut out, but since then I have maintained a belief in the 'talking cure' and I have talked and talked and talked....trying to figure out how it happened, because if I could figure that out perhaps I could fix it, go back and change it, bend time and bring him back.  But as the 6 month anniversary came and went, as each day passes, I am beginning to realise this is permanent.  This is real.  And I hate it. 

Call me strange, but I would rather feel the pain in its grittiest form than walk around in this numb state.   In an effort to live more functionally, to move forward, I have been training myself to bottle my emotions and save them for a rainy day.  I have been trying to be more ‘British’ in my approach to my grief.

I know I will always be American but over the years I have slowly begun to conform to my adopted culture, and my attitude and options have become, in part, distinctly British.  I remember P saying ‘you’re practically English’ from time to time with such an heir of pride.  I, of course, would quickly snap back ‘I thought you loved my American-ness!’  It’s only now that I realise that P was honoured that I was attempting to ingratiate myself into his culture, for this was the biggest compliment I could pay him, a man who was so fond of his English heritage.  But there were two British traits P never fully portrayed.  Negativity and apathy. 

The 2012 Olympics are coming to London in just a few short months and yet everyone seems to be inconvenienced, miserable, and annoyed that they’ve paid too much in tax for this ridiculous display of sport.  Why can’t we just be happy that this incredible event is happening in our lifetimes in our country?! Enthusiasm seems to be an annoying ‘American attitude’.  P never lacked enthusiasm…..he would get excited about the silliest things and REALLY wound up about ridiculous things as well.  Mushiness/romanticism made him uncomfortable but every other emotion was displayed in full. 

What does this have to do with grief?  Well….while you can’t grieve ‘enthusiastically’, I ask you why are we so ashamed to grieve openly?  As a western culture we’re afraid to cry in public, we worry about burdening others with our own pain, but in other Asian cultures the women wail publicly, openly, with their whole being.  Are we doing ourselves a disservice by hiding our pain away?  People tell me I’m doing so well, but if they knew what went on behind the scenes would they still feel the same?  Frankly, when I seem to be functioning oh so well, that’s when I think I’m at my worst.  It feels unnatural, unreal, and fake.  Stop the novocaine please.  I’ll take the tears any day.