One year after, the first year of Mum's death. This week has been like having depression plus nausea and just endless, body-dragging exhaustion. I am interiorly chiding myself. "Cheer up!", I say. "It's been a year, and this shouldn't be so physical!" And I mention half-heartedly or wholeheartedly that I'm feeling sad, or that I am going to go lie down again, But it's like walking through glue. I don't even feel that sad most of the time, but... I'm not sick, but the inertia is post-fever, and inside me I am still remembering every few minutes what it was like to sit beside Mum's bedside watching her breathe so quickly and so shallowly that it didn't seem anyone could remain alive on so little air.
And so I'm going to go heat up pulled pork and cheese for dinner, and then lie down again, and say "Lettest now Thy servant depart in peace.." again, without conviction, and wait for the grief to pass.