At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting."
"And no one ever told me about the laziness of grief. Except at my job--where the machine seems to run on much as usual--I loathe the slightest effort. Not only writing but even reading a letter is too much. Even shaving. What does it matter now whether my cheek is rough or smooth? They say an unhappy man wants distractions--something to take him out of himself. Only as a dog-tired man wants an extra blanket on a cold night; he'd rather lie there shivering than get up and find one. It's easy to see why the lonely become untidy, finally dirty and disgusting." -- C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
Why did I not re-read this two years ago? Perhaps it was that tired man wanting a blanket thing.
I have passed those early stages of it, and have been doing better in many ways. But the truth is that it's not just my daughter that I'm grieving for. And there are setbacks.
