In reply to FreshSlate:
It's odd, this thread. I was thinking of posting about my dad; he died in September and I had a bad day yesterday. Came home on the train penning my post in my mind, but in the end, I decided against it. My heart goes out to you, I know how awful it is.
What I found - and here I must insert the caveat that grief is a truly unique thing - is that with any luck, and the odds are stacked in your favour, you are more resilient than you suspect. My dad's brother flew over from Canada a week later and with him he brought a book, 'The Other Side Of Sadness,' by George Bonanno (
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Other-Side-Sadness-Bereavement/dp/1459608186/re... which explains very well how, yes, you will hurt at first and you will feel terrible for some time, real life does come back to you; you don't necessarily fall apart at the seams. And when I began to resume normality, if it was just laughing at something or forgetting about dad for 4, 5 seconds even, it helped so much because the guilt you feel is assuaged. We are wired to carry on. We are programmed to come through things.
How do you care about anything else? Well, at first, I didn't. I still don't care about a lot that I used to. I could get very bundled up in what people thought of me, in why someone I worked with had blanked me, little things like that which I blew up to be great events in my life, because I was bored or egotistical or something else. And now, I don't give a f*ck about a lot of stuff, because death puts it all into perspective. I would cut my left arm off to have my Dad back, but in lieu of that, I just try very hard to take the positives from it.
He was suffering and had done for some time; it wasn't anything particularly serious but it was a series of things which exhausted and frustrated him, a man who'd been 6'5, very verbose, very clever. He could hold a room in the palm of his hand. And now he was struggling to get out of a chair, had to take 10 pills a day. To some people, that may have still represented a decent quality of life but for him, he'd had enough. He'd always joked, too, that he would die at 74. He died 9 months shy of his deadline.
I had a few experiences very early on which were undoubted expressions. Firstly, I was sick for about 3 weeks. I couldn't keep anything down. My doctor gave me medication but even that was rejected by my body. I lost weight, I became very gaunt and heady because I couldn't eat. I slept very heavily at first, and then that abandoned me to the typical bleakness of 2-4am. I remember getting up on a few occasions and going out walking round the streets where I lived. Often, it was raining. I'd walk in the middle of the road, not caring. 3 days after he died, I had a surge of anger and rage so immense it frightens me to think about it now. But then, it captured me. It was a wave and I rode it, down the stairs and into the lounge where I smashed a solid glass door with my hands. Looking back, I can't imagine doing that; I'm tall and I'm strong but the emotional impetus for such physical destruction seems alien to me now. But grief, like love, asserts itself. And that was simply one way it came out.
Caring about stuff; the one thing about death that it's taught me is that it's okay to be selfish. It's okay to switch off. It's okay to take time for yourself. Again, another little thing that happened to me was a fortnight after Dad died, I took a train into work to talk to my boss. I'd held it together for the meeting and everything was lovely but on the way back, I was on a cramped train with some bloke in the seat next to me who seemed to think that I was just something to sit his briefcase and mac on. I gave him an absolute mouthful for it. I didn't care then and I don't care now. Let yourself off the hook. Now is not the time to beat yourself up with perceived shortcomings about not being able to submerge yourself in the world pre-loss. My dad fell ill on a flight coming home from New York and when we landed, the papers were full of the photos of Kate Middleton's topless shots. Another howl of anger came from me over that; how could people sit and read about that when I'd just lost my dad? When my sister had lost her dad? When my mum was a stunned widower? It wears off, but there's nothing wrong with not caring.
It's been almost 4 months since we lost dad, and it does get easier. But it's a very personal journey, and whilst I think I'm doing okay, I know people who've gone through long periods of self-destruction. Try and eat regularly, try and sleep. Take time off work if you really can't manage it but a routine DOES help. Making even the token gestures towards normality helps. If, at work, I'm having a 'f*ck it all' day, I just plug my iPod in. Noone says a word, either. It keeps me sane and away from a babble of chatter which to me, in that black mood, seems like a luxury only bestowed upon those who don't know who grief is. Other days, I'm friendly and play along. And I do this for ME.
I don't know how helpful this post has been, but I just wanted to let you know that it's okay, truly, not to care about stuff for a bit.
Feel free to e-mail me if you want to chat more
Love to you and your family at this time