My mind isn’t working quite like usual. When I step aside, and look at myself objectively, I can see that. I can see myself wanting to join into conversations but being a step off. I can see myself having to bring my attention back to a task again and again. I can see myself just not being myself.  

It’s like watching someone counting their steps as they’re dancing. The moves are happening, but it doesn’t flow, it’s not natural. 

Maybe this is grief. 

I relate it back to my description of the self-protective brain, that part that won’t let me focus on the enormity of the loss. The problem with having a security guard in your head, that isn’t letting you get too close to certain areas, is that it takes up a huge chunk of the brain’s resources. In fact, judging by how I’m feeling, I don’t believe it’s just one security guard. I think it might be an entire security team. 

I suppose several guards have to be on duty at any one time. It’s a large area to cover. Almost any memory or story path I start down has a really good chance of encountering thoughts of Mom. Which ones are okay to travel, and which ones are not? Which ones will bring a smile, and which ones will only highlight the empty space left behind? It’s a lot to patrol, I know. 

And then there are going to have to be multiple shifts of guards. Someone has to be available for that 3:00 am wake-up moment. In fact, there probably have to be more guards on the night shift. With no activities to redirect my mind to, it’s even more persistent about trying to go where it shouldn’t. It probes at the blockaded area with the single-minded focus of a bloodhound on a scent. Those night shift guards earn their keep and then some. 

Please understand, I don’t mean to make light of grief. I feel certain that what I’m experiencing is a phase of grief that others may have fought long and hard just to get to. It’s only that I have an unmistakable tendency to turn complicated or sensitive issues into little stories involving brain security guards and the like. I can’t even blame that on the grief; my mind has been acting up like that forever. 

To me, it’s a way to frame things. It gives me a slightly removed way of thinking about “how I’m doing.” Not that I explain my security guard theories to anybody who asks me how I’m doing – oh my stars, no one is ready for that. If you’ve read this far, you’re probably thinking – well…I wasn’t ready for that, yet here I am. 

My apologies. It’s really just my internal gauge. 

How am I doing? How well am I concentrating? How well am I sleeping? Am I still having dreams where all I do is cry? Maybe it’s not time to start laying off security guards just yet. 

How am I doing? I’m able to anticipate that the security guards won’t be there forever. I can picture a time when I’ll get to concentrate not on avoiding certain memories, but on relishing them. I can picture a time when I’ll walk all around the loss, the emptiness left behind – by both my mom and my dad – and see it as the testament it is. I’ll see that the loss and emptiness are proportionate to the love. 

How am I doing? Well, I’m not the same. But I’m okay.