The Year of Magical Thinking

So, I just finished reading this book "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion, at the recommendation of my doctor. The woman who wrote this book lost a lot more than I did. She lost her husband of forty years in about as much time as takes to say it. Her daughter was in the ICU at the time, in a very precarious position as well. She endured more stress than any one person should ever have to.

I learned some interesting things from this book. Some of what I've been feeling since my dad died makes a bit more sense to me, and I feel less crazy knowing that I'm not the only one thinking some of the thoughts that have run through my head. However, something that I took from the book, which I'm sure wasn't the intent at all, was that getting close to people will surely result in mind-numbing pain.

Kinda fucked up.

There's part of me that is searching for something to point a finger at James over, so I can run in the other direction, so I don't end up hurting like this over him. I've already done it, in a sense, to my friends in Hawaii. I did it to my family.

I knew six years ago when my dad had his stroke that his death was eminent. I hate saying that. I hate admitting that I ran partly because I knew I wasn't going to deal well when he was gone. I hate everything that it says about me. I feel like something in my brain is broken right now, and I would give anything to fix it. I don't want to distance myself from the people that love me. I don't want so much anxiety that I have panic attacks at work, and end up locked in the bathroom hyperventilating. I don't want to feel sick every time I eat a few bites of anything.

I wonder though; how much loss can a person take before they break entirely. What made Joan Didion strong enough to bear the loss of her other half with no warning at all? Did she feel like her mind was broken? Does she feel now like it's mending? These are things I wish I could ask her. In her book, there were things she couldn't bring herself to do because it made her husband being gone real. She couldn't throw out his shoes, she couldn't turn the page in his dictionary, in case he would need to know the last thing he looked up. I'm being pushed to make decisions about a memorial service and wake for my father. Even though he's gone, and my brother has his ashes, I think perhaps having a memorial service will mean he's gone for real. It will mean I have to delete his email address from my list. It will mean I should delete his phone number from my phone.

I know in my head that he's gone. I just wonder how long before I don't feel quite so broken inside over it.