Since Mom and Dad died I sometimes, more than I’d like, wrestle with the question about my daily activities, “What’s the point?” Sometimes many things I used to be compelled to do, motivated to action by, and completely occupied with seem rather purposeless.
Do I really need to scan and redo our family’s photo albums? I’m more than two-thirds done with this project I started literally a decade or more ago, and now I wonder why bother?
Do I really need to put up a blog post? On days like today that seems like one of the more pointless activities I engage in. On days like today blogging seems like a hungry monster that gobbles up my time yet produces nothing.
Everything seems so temporary on days like today. And relatively pointless.
When Mom and Dad were still alive I was driven by a pressing need to try and make their lives a little better. Maybe I could find recipes that Dad could still eat, or a device to grind his food. Maybe I could brighten Mom’s day an tiny little bit with scented foaming hand soap. Maybe I could find some kind of harness to help Dad sit up in his wheelchair. I’d regularly circle through the medical supply store just to see if there might be something there to ease someone’s pain or workload.
Sometimes now I think the most productive use of my time is to start undoing the things that I’ve done. To start getting rid of the things I’ve bought, used, and now store in case someone needs them or simply for memory’s sake. To start erasing my life one shelf of books, one set of canisters, or stack of baskets at a time.
One part of my mind, that piece that stays logical in the midst of chaos, that can leave my body and look down at me watching my every movement, reminds me that this disinterest, dissociation, loss of desire is most assuredly just another obstacle I need to navigate around or through on my grief journey.
That logical part of my mind helps me to not worry about it. So I don’t. I just move through these hours, this day, and hope tomorrow isn’t a day like today.