Funk

I am in a funk. Funkity funk funk funk.

The six-month anniversary of John's death hit me really hard. Work has been incredibly annoying. My best friend is moving away. I feel like a lot of my friends just so happen to be in those places in life where the stars align and things go their way. I want to be happy for them, and I say the right things, but mostly I'm sad, jealous, and bitter.

When John was dying, my sadness often turned to anger and it often got directed at John. So unfair, right? I was so scared of what my life would be like without him, so tired from dealing with the constant presence of Imminent Death, and so overwhelmed as a new mother that sometimes things would just spew out of me at the nearest target: John. It made me feel horrible. John and I talked about it and he was a prince for dealing with it, but it sucked. I look back on those days with much regret, mad at myself for spending our last times together in such a state of fear and anger instead of making the most of what we had left, whatever that even means.

Right after John died, there was a part of me that felt this strange sense of lightness and relief: No more cancer. Frankly, that relieved feeling was stronger than the sadness at first. John being gone was somehow too much for me to grasp, but I was more than happy to accept that cancer was no longer a part of my daily life.

The endorphins of that no-more-cancer euphoria are wearing off. Now I just feel marrow-sucking sadness. I miss John. I miss our life, even the part with cancer. I hate wondering what things would be like if he were here, because I know things would be better. I was at a party over the weekend and the whole thing was so tedious for me, a minefield of chasing my kids around someone else's house, never having time to visit with anyone, consoling Riley, who kept hitting his head or being scared of strangers. I have no wingman, and I was in a place where everyone else had a wingman. It sucked.

I can't direct all of this foulness at John anymore because, alas, he is gone. So guess who's getting it now? That's right. The twins. I am short-tempered and crabby. I am no fun. I take away toys that cause disputes. I have no energy or creativity. Emmie sang a song into her son's pants the other day to help him through a stressful time—such an awesome idea! I have no such ideas. Upset about having to wear those pants you don't like? Sorry, life is hard, you'll be fine. That's the best I can do. I just can't help but feel that they would be happier if I were happier.

There are moments of joy (the kisses!) but there is a lot of drudgery in my life right now, and a partner would make life finding the joy so much easier. I'm an optimist by nature, and what keeps me going is the thought that there must be some payoff for this, something big waiting for me, and if I keep going and keep doing the best I can, I'm going reap some amazing benefit. For now, I'm doing the right things: I eat, I sleep, I get lots of help, I talk to a therapist. It's only been six months (or is that it's already been six months?), but I'm ready for my reward to come my way.