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Crying Over Spilled Milk

I had very high hopes for today. And, in fact, much of the day went wonderfully. I was able to roust myself out of bed early enough to exercise. I did a very extensive workout, both cardiopulmonary and in terms of weight training. I made up for a secretarial error without making an issue about it (I ran a test over to the Disabilities Testing Facilities for a visually impaired student of mine. The DTF is all way the hell across the exact opposite side of campus from where my office and laboratory are located. This exam *was supposed to* have been sent electronically last week by a secretary to the DTF, but there was a snafu only discovered half an hour before the exam was to be given. I got the paper copy to the DTF and ran all the way back to my building with only 5 minutes to spare before I needed to go administer my first final examination of the week.). The exam I administered ran smoothly. I was able to work with several of my research students, and I even read several new journal articles I had been needing to read.

Then I went home. It was dark already, and I turned on the living room tree, the tree that had been the tree decorated with silver and had belonged to my mother. Of the four strands of lights on the tree, one strand, in the middle, did not light. I went through and tried to find the defective bulb or fuse to no avail. The middle layer of the tree was barren of light. It looked foolish and ugly. Then my brother stopped by with his kids, and he asked me to give them haircuts. It may seem odd, but I have always been known to give good trims and I use my moustache and beard trimmer to give these two tykes haircuts. His little girl, who is four and a half was an angel like usual, and I was able to give her an excellent trim. His young boy, who is two, was as active and impossible to hold as usual. Unfortunately, because he would not sit still (typical) there was a sizable chunk of hair that I mistakenly cut in the back. I tried to feather it in some, but it is still noticeable.

To make a long story short, I am not fully sure why, but after those two incidents (the lights and the haircut mishap), I very literally started to cry my heart out. I was so angry, frustrated, sad, and upset, that I had to excuse myself and went outside for a bit to be by myself and to cry and sob uncontrollably.

The obvious choices for "why" this happened are pretty typical... 1) the tree, which is a task I had been dreading since my mother's passing was DONE, and to have to redo it (string new lights and decorate it again) meant I would have to experience all that again after having just completed the task Sunday, or 2) the mistake I made in my brother's boy's hair made me feel like I had once again failed... like I seem to fail at so many things of late.

The rational, scientific side of me knows that both of the above "whys" are foolish and silly... a string of cheap Christmas lights that stop working is as common as fleas on a dog's back... and with the hyperkinetic behavior of the kid, there was bound to be some slip ups.

But, my emotional, psychological side felt devastated and hurt and a failure. I know it is not rational, but it is a real feeling. Coupled with the fact that Tuesday is the "Memorial" date for the Grief Support Group I attend monthly, I suspect I have more than the usual degree of pent up emotion inside me.

Tuesday evening, I will go to the Grief Support Group with a framed photograph of my beautiful mother. As was told to us last month, what we shall do is display the photograph in the meeting and each of us in turn will talk about the person he/she lost and also talk about how he/she is coping with the grief. While in many ways I know this is an excellent thing to do to help me work with my grief, a part of me is incredibly resistant about going. I both *want* to go and talk about my mother and honor her memory by telling of my love for her, but at the same time I am resisting, because I do not want to delve so deeply into the pool of despair that I can feel if I explore my feelings. As is typical for me, when push comes to shove, when the meeting rolls around at 7:30pm on Tuesday night, I will be able to attend, and will be able to give an honorable tribute to my mother, and I will be able to withstand the pain and the sorrow this event will unleash. But as is typical for me, I will worry and fret, and feel tense and aggravated about this particular meeting until I am actually there.

Please wish me luck and send good thoughts.

PipeTobacco