Between Extremes: Grieving and Coping with Pain

I go from one extreme to the other. Either I sleep for nearly four days straight, or I’m up all night, caught in an endless loop of exhaustion and restlessness. The pain in my hands and fingers doesn’t help, but I know deep down that it’s not just physical. It’s grief. It’s the weight of losing Nannie pressing on me, making even the smallest tasks feel impossible.

It has been almost a month now. A month, since I last, saw Nannie alive, heard her voice, told her I loved her, and heard her say it back. Yet, it still doesn’t feel real. How do you grieve when your heart refuses to accept reality? How do you let go of someone who was always there?

I don’t know how to grieve. I don’t know how to accept that she is really gone. And to be facing a probable diagnosis on top of that? It’s like the universe keeps piling on, daring me to crumble under the weight of it all.

There are moments when I think I’m okay when I distract myself enough to feel normal. And then there are moments when the loss hits me like a tidal wave, pulling me under with no warning and no time to prepare.

Grief is unpredictable. It doesn’t follow a schedule. It doesn’t let you move on when you think you should. It lingers, making the simplest things feel monumental. Some days, all I can do is breathe. Some nights, all I can do is cry.

Maybe one day, it will feel real. Maybe one day, I’ll know how to be okay. But for now, I’m just existing in between the extremes, trying to find my way through the fog of loss and pain.