Four a.m. and I’ve recovered enough from my first day of tears to cry again. That’s how mourning goes; you cry until you can’t anymore, until your eyes feel like two tiny sandpits on your face. Then you sleep, because crying tires you out like nothing else. And you welcome sleep, please come, please take me away from this constant pain, but sleep only stays until you’re strong enough to cry again. Then you wake up at 4 in the morning and start tearing up because there is no staying in bed once you gain consciousness and remember what happened.
Been going thru all my old emails. Usually not cleaning my emails from my sent file is a weakness; too much of that and I’ll clog my computer brain up. Been happy for it lately. I have almost a year’s worth of messages from Blah – Blue – Ulla – to go back and read. It was not easy to see, time after time, her telling me how sad she felt, how nothing and greyed out and ick she was. But my eye was caught by her lols and rofls when I made a joke. I smiled at her jokes back to me. I took heart from the fact she told me our correspondence was important to her.
Tried to go back thru her blog, too. That was harder to do. Harder to read and just harder to navigate. I hope no one takes her words down.
Everyone is telling me it isn’t my fault. My brother has been hovering. My online friends are rallying.
I’m just in mourning. Deep mourning. I keep saying that, and still I hear about how she’s in a better place, how I made a positive difference in her life, etc. etc. I know all those things. And I wish I could get this all over with in one cry and be done with it. But I can’t. That’s not the kind of thing this is.
I took her as she was. I realize that now, after reading thru our correspondence. She gave me hints, bits of her past – a breakdown in 2012, the death of her mother, a brother in the UK, living at 55 different addresses – but she didn’t give away much. Invitations to talk more about these things were met with misdirection. How are you feeling? she’d ask me instead of answering. She told me hearing about my life helped her, that she didn’t want to go into any of it. That was something I understood, that some pain is just too deep to discuss. So I didn’t push her. She was a newly pressed person with me; no past to draw judgement from. Maybe that was refreshing. To not have to go thru it with one more person, to not have another person question this or that over her past. I never questioned her sorrow or depression. She was sad or depressed and to me, she had no reason not to be.
None of what she didn’t tell me would make any difference. I knew her from the now, from what she wrote about every day. The slog we all go thru. And that’s where we connected. That’s where we became friends.
Been reading other people’s words about Ulla. She meant so much to so many people. She corresponded with so many people. And she was always so quick to help each of us. Maybe that was her way of trying to help herself. I wish she could have seen how perfectly wonderful she was.
Trying to write something for her. Trying to make it great and failing, of course. So I’m putting aside great and just going for honest. I think she would appreciate that.
As for me…I made myself get up yesterday, did the dishes, made my bed, brushed my hair and washed the tears off my face. Sent a note to my language instructor that I won’t be in class today. Everything stops. For a little while. I’m still too weepy to do public. Another week of healing and I’ll give it a go.
I cry. Distract myself, or try to. Pick up five different things for two or three minutes at a time. Time moves so slowly. I went thru four days yesterday. And always that dullness in me. The lack of shine. The utter sluggishness. The headaches from crying.
The heartache from losing.