I had thought the days immediately after some closure on my mother’s new cancer would be a gradual feeling of sliding down from the heights of fear, but instead it was more like a plummet – into a valley of problems I had suppressed so far.
Like I had decided somewhere in my mind that even though this was hard enough, then the op would be successful and my mother would make a full recovery, in time.
Whatever the cause, it was like after a day’s rest or so the floodgates to other, more ‘normal’ worries began to give in. And it gradually increased over the next few days.
A strange kind of normalcy, as if we automatically are hardwired to move to the next greatest problem or ‘danger’, once the greatest is out of the way. Not surprising, I suppose, but still a bit strange.
I would say, though, that frustrating as it is to think about financial challenges – for that is what it was again – it is preferable to death and loss.
But then what? The same old glut, it felt like.
We relaxed for most of the day, but the sense that a lot of other things were ‘off’ hung there, like mist over the fjord near the city, waiting to roll in.
But even though I knew this, and even though I had plenty of things on my to do-list – growing and growing all the days and weeks I had to lay low – even in spite of all that I did manage to do nothing. Except rejuvenate.
We talk a walk by the fjord and went to a cafe and had some coffee and Jay slept (most of the time) in his carriage.
We surfed the internet and watched some lame TV and generally did nothing.
Because I knew that that is what I needed after these past weeks’ drain.
And so I managed. Despite the mist over the fjord.