Ahh yes, I remember it well...

You know, one forgets very quickly how awful the process of grieving is. It's exhausting.

I have a pile of marking to do - none of it urgent, but I'd like to get it done before the holidays so that I can actually HAVE a holiday. I had time today, but I simply couldn't concentrate enough to do it.

I have an assignment to do for lectures tomorrow.... it's an easy one, and it's already half done. I couldn't face finishing it.

I need to sort out labels for the nappies (because the ones I have aren't working), but I simply don't have the energy to pick up the phone and have a conversation with my supplier.

I need to go and buy weed killer for the lawn because it's very obvious that my efforts at weeding are not up to the task. But I know that when I get to the nursery, I'll stand in front of the rack with the weedkillers and not be able to make a choice about which one to buy.

I remember this state well. I hate the fact that I don't have time to grieve. That's something to be said for the Jewish culture. When someone dies, you sit around at home for a week or so, and do nothing. You sit Shiva. Everyone gives you a week off to do what you need to do - to sit numbly, to cry, to yell, to remember, to tell stories. Our western culture has robbed us of that necessity.

I was offered some time off this morning because I was in tears before I even got to class. But to be honest, I don't want to sit at home alone. Grieving is something to be done as part of a community. It's not an individual effort. Yesterday I spent the day with my family, and it was such a blessing. We talked about Barry, and we talked about everything under the sun. It was so nice to be with people, and to have the freedom to talk to them, or not. If I was at home alone, I would be alone, with no-one to talk to.

With Zoe, I reacted by withdrawing completely from everyone and everything. While that approach works too, and while I know I need that to some extent to process my own emotions so I can support my dad and my aunt, right now, I don't want that. I want people around me I can talk to, and say 'Remember when...' to. Since I won't get that if I'm at home alone, there's no point in being home. Better to be at work and at least feel marginally useful.

But not processing means I'm even more exhausted. And so I'm getting stressed because there are things to be done, and I can't get on and do them. My stomach is tied up in knots and I feel almost ill - both from grief and frustration. I'm sleeping well, which is good, but when I wake I still feel just as tired as when I went to sleep. Grief takes its toll, I guess.

This evening I sat in front of the TV, munched on chocolate, and mended a very old teddy bear of mine called Bruno. Before he was my teddy, he used to be my brother's teddy. Now he's Nellie's teddy. There was something very therapeutic about working with Bruno tonight, something that spoke to me of continuity, and legacy, and heritage, of the connectedness of family, of being part of something bigger than just myself. It made me feel less alone, and less lonely.

As I was mending him, I noticed that he'd been mended before. This is one well-loved teddy! While I hope that one day Nellie will be able to pass him on to her children, I know there will come a day when Bruno won't be able to mended anymore, when he will have to be thrown away. Everything must come to an end I guess. Even us. It's just so hard to say goodbye and to be left behind.