The Grief Diet

Where do we start? Should I tell you about the time my husband had to restrain me from punching a lady at the Comfort Inn? How about the time I spent an hour going through the yellow pages looking for psychics who communicate with the deceased? A more recent time was when I locked my keys in my car for the fifth time in four months. AAA knows me by name. Or when I almost spilled my father’s ashes at Denver International Airport. Then there was the time when I picked up the phone to ask my father for advice about a potential job, forgetting that he has been dead for five months.

We will get to all of this later. Let’s start at the beginning, or should I say the end? April 2nd, 2008, I was watching American Idol with my daughters. The cops knocked on my door and asked if there was a Kimberly who lived at this residence. They told me their visit was to perform one of their most difficult duties. They proceeded to ask me if I knew a Burl Thompson from Arizona. That was all I heard. I let out the most piercing cry. It is forever etched in my eight year old’s memory. My world came crashing down.

Since then it has been a struggle to make it through each day. I find myself losing things (more than usual), not being able to sleep, and forgetting to eat. It is what my husband calls the Grief Diet. I have been off and on this diet since that terrible day. It is an unfortunate way of losing those unwanted pounds. I would have preferred to cut back on ice cream. I was in no way prepared for the physical toll this loss would take on my body.

I often wonder if I am going crazy. I have been in search of resources relating to grief that confirm that I am not insane. I haven’t found too many sites that offer me such a comfort. So this blog is to connect with others who are grieving a loss. Although I am not convinced that I will pass a mental status exam, I hope that sharing my experience will reassure you that either you are not crazy or you are not alone in your insanity. I am right along with you. My ultimate purpose, however, is the hope that I can make sense of this pain.