Rest and Recovery

My Pops’s funeral (David’s funeral) was this past Thursday. The service began with military honors. There is nothing so final as hearing Taps played by a lone trumpet player amidst complete silence. I broke down and cried. I quickly found that tears running down my face and this causing a runny nose, and the mask covering half of my face and this causing my glasses to steam up, made for an awful, uncomfortable mess. It was hot and humid outside anyway; it had been raining all morning, but had stopped in time for the service. My mother’s niche was right next to David’s, so it was quite the deja vu for the girls and I – bringing up emotionally charged memories of three years before when we had been here for my mom. It was a short, graveside service, so I persevered through.

The cemetery reception afterwards, a new concept due to Covid, was moved indoors to a recently renovated area. I hoped desperately that this meant good ventilation because despite ours and the cemetery’s requests that everyone wear a mask, there were people in this room who were not wearing one! My oldest daughter has moderately-severe asthma and would not enter the room due to this lack of respect. I can’t blame her. I stayed on the other side of the room and shortened my stay. It was very difficult not to hug friends and family at this time of deep grief. I guess we were lucky to have a service at all…

The next morning, I woke up completely drained – a deep exhaustion that I’ve not felt in a long time. I was “flighty as a June bug”, in my husband’s words, for the next two days. I couldn’t find my glasses. I couldn’t find my phone. I couldn’t think straight. So, I finally gave up on thinking at all and binge-watched movies. Today, the third day, is better; however, I’ve gone over my calendar for the week and moved bunches of stuff to any other week but this one, so as to have a semi-normal routine and continue to rest some. I hope that life does not decide to interfere with my plans.