New Year? Nothing new to see here...

Well, we have turned the page on the calendar to 2013.   For most people this is a time of making resolutions, new beginnings,  setting goals, and looking ahead to opportunities that might present themselves throughout the year.   I have none of that.  That flip of  the calendar means doodly squat to me.  Zip. Zilch. Nothing.  The most pressing thing I am looking forward to is the Hospice Grief Counseling class that I will be attending the 2nd week of the month.  If I had to guess, I have rolled right on into the anger stage.  I don't like it here.  But here is where I seem to be. 

I am constantly beating myself up to remember all of the blessings I have in my life.  Like a hubby who takes me moment by moment.  Who continues to support whatever mood I am in and turns a blind eye to the massive amount of retail therapy I have brought into the house.  He often finds me crying in my chair at night and will ask, with love, if I know that my eye is leaking.  It's his loving way to cheer me up and let me know that he's here for me.  In fact, it has been his humor that has lightened the mood on several occassions.  For instance, at my district Christmas dinner a young boy was singing "Little Drummer Boy" with the voice of an angel, when I looked up and saw my BF smile and whisper "I love you", I started sobbing.  Not like quiet tears running down my face.  Full on shoulders heaving sobbing.  I couldn't stop.  I tried to stop.  People scrambled for napkins, kleenexes, shirt sleeves, anything to mop up the mess I was leaving on my face.  Hubby jumps right in to help by whispering, loud enough for the table to hear, "It's OK honey, he's just a little boy, it's really not that bad."  Which made me stop because this boy had a voice.  We all laughed at the ridiculousness that this young man sounded anything but amazing and the sobs subsided.   I cry a lot.  At anything.  Hubby and I spent the weekend at his Dad's (that's a whole other blog) and everytime my family was mentioned, I couldn't speak. Without choking back sobs.  It just happens.

I have mentioned in my previous blog that I am not getting out much unless I am with Mom, Juju or Hubby.  See above paragraph if you don't remember why.  I am trying to get past it.  I have a baby shower this weekend.  I can't commit to going.  My sweet friend understands.  She is a blog reader.  She has text me throughout.  I wish I could say that I could go.   What I fear happening would be showing up and the moment she hugged me... waterworks.  And not the pretty kind. 

I really don't know how long this will last.  At what point am I no longer within the realm of normal grieving.  Which is actually an oxymoron or some such literature device.  Grieving cannot be boxed into normal/abnormal/unnormal, etc...  We have to do it on our time, in our own way, while trying to put one foot in front of the other. 

So while everyone else may be turning the page on the calendar, coming up with a new workout regime designed to lose 10 lbs, promising to be nicer, go to church more, or whatever goals seem worthy, I am simply getting up, doing the best I can for my family and going to bed.  Repeat.