Why aren’t I crying?
Is there something wrong with me? Where are my proper feelings?
Mum died last week, and I loved her a whole heap. I was there when she died, and I cried THEN, and meant it, of course. But now…I don’t feel grief. I don’t know what I feel. I can’t feel what I feel.
I feel different, though. I’m an orphan. It’s been said a million times, but you don’t feel truly adult until you’re alone in this world, without your parents to pick you up when you fall. When they die, you feel as if some kind of elevator has moved up a step, and now YOU’RE in the waiting room for old age and death – it’s only a matter of time. I’ve BEEN procreated, I’ve procreated, myself – now I need to make way. Perhaps THAT’s grief, for me – a sort of low-level feeling of ‘well I guess that’s it then’.
Wouldn’t it be nice if life was an orderly progression to heaven, with a neat totting up of sins and brownie points at the end of it and then a never-ending picnic in a meadow with all your long-lost friends and relatives. I don’t understand why religious people have to search for meaning when it’s so pleasantly presented to them. Atheists, on the other hand…well, freedom is a sometimes painful gift, and we’re free to make our own meaning, or fail to.
For me, it all comes down to the moment. In this moment, I have a cold, and no mother, and I feel dimmed, like a candle when a draught comes in, but not guttered.