There is this tension, I find, in the grieving process, between wanting to carry on with your life as it is, and between wanting to collapse in a heap and simply be with your grief.  I am taking the first route (most of the time) because I feel the best way to honor my dad and his life, is to do the things he always did and would have me do:  care for my family, connect with friends, do good work in the world, and always, always keep on learning.

So I have thrown myself into a new job, into writing projects, into taking my children to their customary activities.  And for the most part, it feels like the right thing to do.  It keeps my energy humming and it keeps me engaged and interested in life.  However, I have moments when I feel like screaming, “How can I possibly be expected to do all of this?  I’m grieving!”  I happened across this blog entry by UUMomma, who commented here for the first time the other day and who also lost her father recently.  I found myself nodding my head in agreement.  Where are the rituals, the observable signals that we have lost someone dear to us?  What have we lost in giving up those outward signs of mourning that allowed others to realize that we should be treated gently?

My mother-in-law, when her own mother died, chose to wear black and white for a year in her honor.  At the time, I thought that was silly, morose, even self-indulgent.  But now I see how that can be a tangible reminder, to others and to oneself, to tread lightly.