The emotional weight of grief

Better times

My daughter Erin has a weighted blanket, a concept I don’t really understand. I picked hers up once and was amazed at how heavy it was - how can that be comforting? Since Randy died I often feel that I’m living under a weighted blanket - the weight slows my movements, my thoughts, and makes it hard to get a deep breath. And all of that makes it hard to care about anything unless it’s absolutely necessary.

One of my granddaughters was here a few weeks ago and, for reasons best known to her, took one of my cookbooks and carried it around the house. She left it on the landing, and it’s still there. I walk past it many times a day and occasionally I think to myself, I really should pick that up and put it back on the shelf. But I don’t, because, what difference does it make?