It’s Tuesday night.  I’m making a salad and listening to the Giant’s playoff game.  Matt has requested Zachary’s pizza.  I’m thinking I might have a glass of wine.  I feel normal. It is a typical night.

I wonder if John is watching the game, or if he’s at work.  Wait. No. Wait….  He’s not… Suddenly this is NOT a typical night.  Suddenly I feel sick.  Suddenly, nausea repels the idea of wine.  Suddenly, I am shaky, weak-kneed.  I must sit down.  On the couch, the game is completely uninteresting.  I am gone again.

This scenario repeats itself throughout my day.  Morning.  Awake.  Sick.  Can’t get out of bed.  Making coffee.  Better. Thinking about timing to get to today’s hike. Feeling almost normal again.  Into my closet. Hiking shirt. Hiking socks.  Sunscreen.  Where are my shorts?  Into the laundry room.  Wait…..what am I doing in the laundry room?  I can’t breathe.  There is a massive granite boulder on my chest.  Breathe.  In. Out.  In, so deep that the boulder presses on my heart and my lungs hurt.  Breathe a little shallower.   Better now.  Into the car. Buckling in, backing out, down the road, all automatic.  I’m in Orinda.  Wait.  How did I get to Orinda?  Should I be driving?  I don’t think I should be driving.  My friend is waiting for me.  An anxious look, a tentative smile.  Hug? What to say first?  Tears.  Deep breaths.  First steps, we are on our way.  A normal rhythm developing in our conversation, our pace.  Pause to admire the scenery, to complement the day, to appreciate this place, this moment.   I feel dull, but not sad, not mad, not sick.

I am wondering how long I will be operating like this.  When I’m sad and out-of-sorts, I try to talk myself out of it.  When I feel normal, I feel guilty. It’s only been a little over two weeks.  There is no way I should or could feel normal.

Matt used the term, “bi-polar” to describe where we are in our journey through the valley of grief.  It fits.  A manic episode; normal, almost happy even, regular and then in a flash, a memory pops in and a spiraling descent into despair and tears ensues.  When the emotion passes, logical thinking weaves its way in.  The logic tries to talk my brain out of thinking that thought.  It tries to talk my heart out of feeling so heavy and broken.