Grief doesn't sneak up on you so much as knock you down like a beach umbrella in a tsunami. This was me for the past two days. I'm a bit better now, but I wasn't much fun to be around. I also didn't do a whole lot. Well, unless you count moping around, bursting into tears, and compulsively looking at pictures of shelter dogs doing something. For instance, the laundry, which did not get done, is now a mountain of epic proportions. I must get to it this afternoon because otherwise I'm not entirely sure what people will wear tomorrow.
It's bad enough to lose someone you loved dearly, but, I wasn't quite prepared for how grief butts its ugly head into every part of life. Some days I just can't seem to do the most basic of tasks. Other days, I can do the basics, but anything more is just beyond me. This plays havoc with trying to keep up with post-adoption paperwork and doctors' appointments (both the making and the keeping). Looking at the state of my desk and its environs will give you a good sense of what the inside of my brain must look like at the moment. As a somewhat overly capable person, this lack of wherewithal to get anything done is frustrating. I'm ready to tick the grief box and be done with it. It doesn't seem to work that way, though, does it?
And let me just say that losing Gretel on top of it all is just the straw that broke this camel's back. She was goofy and loud and sometimes obnoxious, but I miss having her around. I've actually been a little blindsided by exactly how much I miss having her around. I'm sure it is all part of this strange cocktail of extreme grief, extreme change, and extreme unsettledness that loosing a father and gaining to new older daughters within four weeks of each other will do to a person.
I want to be on record as saying I don't recommend doing things this way.