So I just returned home from catching up with an "old" friend. We had dinner, and then moved to another bar for a drink. And it happened to be Karoake Night. Don't worry- I didn't get up and sing, but it is hard for me to not sing along with those that do brave the karoake gauntlet. So I sang along, and observed the scene around me. I found myself laughing at moments, and some moments literally turning over my shoulder to make a comment to Dan. We spent a lot of time at Karaoake Night at Savannah's in Kensington... though he never stepped up to the mic.
It was a reminder to me that I am caught between two worlds. My old "Dan" life, and the "yet-to-be-determined" life. Still the same me, but at the same time, a whole new me. Let's face it, I've learned things that people don't learn until they're 80. My faults and positive traits are there for me to see in equal measure. It's a confusing time for me. I am allowing myself to be shuttled among different people each day. Kinda like a huge Meg mosh pit.
I don't know what grief is yet. When I wake up, it feels like the same way you do when someone throws you in the pool fully clothed... heavy. I could care less about things I used to obsess over, like where my coffee comes from (although, Dunkin still rules). I don't cry.... haven't shed a tear in any meaningful way since he passed. I wonder if Dan was just a dream, but if he was, why I don't really dream at all. I feel like I am in a state of shock, which is normal, so "they" tell me. I almost feel worse for other people's loss than I do my own. The absolute worst part of the funeral for me was seeing Dan's friends cry. I just wanted to make them feel better versus seeking any comfort of my own. I feel a profound sense of loss, but it's more from observing other people than actually feeling it myself. As the saying goes- "De Nile" ain't just a river in Egypt.
I suppose I am seeking all the normal avenues of recovery. I had a good shopping spree. Fortunately, I snapped back to reality just in time. I almost dropped a couple of hundred dollars on a white suit... John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever had nothing on me. But I was able to realize pretty quickly when I being to cross the line. Though I looked pretty darn sharp in that suit!
Making the initial first step to get out tonight was a little weird. But I was able to remember that I like to karaoke, and that Dan claimed to be a fan. I can still laugh and joke. I am still me, but with a new sense of purpose. Maybe I am Meg 2.0.
And, I do need a go-to karoake song if the guy in the bar ever plunks down a book with 10,000 options!
Flipping your doctor’s visit on its head
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