This is Your Brain on Grief

Dear John,

 

It's another lovely evening, in the mid-70s. I'm sitting on the couch next to an open window, feeling the breeze and listening to the birds. The dog is next to me and the cat is goodness-knows-where.

 

Speaking of which, the cat is speaking to me again. The bad news is that the dishcloth disappeared while I was at work today. I've looked everywhere except under some furniture - I'll find it when I vacuum this weekend. Tri-species living is always entertaining!

 

The good news is that my brain is finally recovering - I can tell so much difference at work. Things that seemed so complex and puzzling are clear and obvious now. I'm appalled at my intellectual incapacity over the last year. I have abjectly apologized to Kathy and thanked her for her patience. I know it was normal and to be expected, and there was not a thing in the world I could do about it. But I'm still horrified and embarrassed. I should be much more help to her now.

 

It's fascinating, really. My brain was at half-mast for over a year - the three months you were in the hospital, and the whole first year without you. I knew grief disrupts focus and concentration, but experiencing that total mental dysfunction is remarkable. As a head person, I find it a bit disturbing that my heart can completely short-circuit my brain.

 

All of this puts one concern to rest. I didn't know if the problem was a temporary response to grief or permanent damage from the accident and the bleed. Now I know, and am relieved that it is passing. After all, since you're not here to look after me, I need to have my wits about me, don't I?

 

However, I'd give up the wits to have you! Love you with all my heart and brain,

Joan.

P.S. - When I came down the hall to go to bed, the dishcloth had materialized on the closet floor. Microfiber, bless it, appears to be cat-resistant. Ah, the marvels of modern technology! Love you bunches!