These entries begin two days after Anna’s funeral and cremation in June 2016. They are based on text messages, email and journal entries written at the time. Anna and Conal had been together since 1978.
THE kitchen was tidy. The washing on the line. The medicine box was put away. The vacuuming done. The housework complete. It was 9.30am on a Tuesday on there was nothing else to be done.
I was standing in the lounge room. Glued to the spot.
“What do I do now?” I said to nobody in particular.
Then I broke down and started to cry.
“Everything is done. There is nothing else to be done.” I wailed through tears.
A few days earlier I had the funeral for Anna.
She was gone. Anna was dead.
Now I was left in an empty house. Alone. With the day’s chores complete.
“What do I do now?” I asked again. And slumped down on the couch, a blubbering mess.
The silence enveloped me.
This was shaping up to be another six-cry day.
***
July 6, 2016: The world seems opaque. Washed out. The house feels empty. I never realised how much of it was filled by Anna. My beautiful Anna (Am crying). I haven’t been able to write in my journal. Not sure why. I can’t find the courage? I can’t find the inclination? Yesterday I resolved to write events down, to process what has happened. I found myself procrastinating. I could feel the start of a panic attack. But I did it.
I decided to sort Anna’s clothes and get them ready to go. Got to keep busy. Don’t feel like writing. Don’t feel like looking at the photos. Can’t concentrate for long. Am listless. Loud noises annoy me. Oh well. Life goes on.
July 7: Dropped off bags of Anna’s clothes to Vinnies. God help me if she ever comes back … I’ll have to buy her a whole new wardrobe. I move my clothes into the dresser in our room. Our Room? It’s now my room.
“This morning I am continuing to live. I go through the chores. I clean, tidy and cook breakfast. Then I stop. And the tears come back. I can feel the weight descending on my shoulders. I cry.
Conal Healy, Grief Survivor
This morning I am continuing to live. I go through the chores. I clean, tidy and cook breakfast. Then I stop. Stand. And the tears come back. I can feel the weight descending on my shoulders. I cry. Catch my breath. Dry my face. Carry on.
I am one song away from crying. One memory away from tears. I have to really concentrate – otherwise I drift away into a dream world of emptiness. (I have to doubly aware when I am driving the car.)
My Daughter has caught be doing this. She sees the tears and will say “Remember to breathe”.
Or “Put up you hand if you want a hug”. Sometimes I am so choked up that I have to resort to texting to communicate to her … when she is on the opposite side of the room.
Or I change the subject and normality is resumed. Most days we get out of the house for a few hours. We walk by the ocean. We have cake and coffee out.
I haven’t had a drink in three days. I emailed my boss about returning to work. I will be off next week and go back for three-days for two weeks and be back full time by the end of August. It is a plan.
July 8 : I lose the car in the local shopping centre, I am suffering from Grief Fog (also known as Brain Fog).
What is Grief Fog?
Grief can cause confusion, forgetfulness, anxiety, and a lack of concentration it is called “Brain Fog.” The fog and the mental confusion are symptoms of extreme stress and grief.
According to copefoundation.org: “Grief causes brain fog, because not only are you sad and missing the person you’ve lost, but your brain is preoccupied by the “what if” and “if only” thoughts that are a normal and natural reaction to loss.”
