Grief is a funny thing. If I had been asked whether I would grieve over my Grandmothers death, I would probably have answered "no." I would miss her, of course, but to bemoan the death of someone who reached her late 90's? That would be selfish.
But here I sit, feeling...discombobulated.
I've had a week where concentration has been difficult. Chores and projects lay about the house, in various modes of incompleteness. Writing more than 2 or 3 sentences at a time has only become possible today.
Except for a few stray moments, none of the feelings I've experienced come under the heading of classic grief (and those moments have been overwhelming). Instead, I feel displaced. As if nothing has really changed, but all of creation has taken a teeny step sideways. And, (please excuse the mixing of metaphors) all of the teeth in my gears are not meshing easily with the gears of the rest of creation. They sort of are, but not neatly.
I absolutely can't stand the sensation of not being able to concentrate.
Words for Wednesday
9 hours ago