Today I went back to work. After half my normal hours, I felt like I had worked an entire shift. Tomorrow I'll ask my boss if I can work half-days for a couple of weeks. Six hours was too much.
But going to work was good for me. For periods of time, my mind was caught up in my work and the book I was listening to on tape. When I wanted to talk, I'd turn around, and chat with my seatmate about how my cat handled the stress of last week or about one person who is (repeatedly) expressing her sympathy in a way that makes me uncomfortable. My coworker understands, and when I turn around and go back to work, he doesn't feel offended.
In fact, my coworkers have bowled me over with their kindness. They sent a gigantic floral display and collected almost $175 additional as a gift. Six or seven of them left work to attend the memorial service on Friday, and today, everybody was ready with a hug, a quiet word of concern, an offer of help.
I left work at my usual hour. When I pulled into the parking lot, grief landed on my heart, increasing its weight a thousand percent. The full horror and pain of my loss jumped on and dug in claws.
At least our cat Talia (a lynx point Siamese) has returned to normal. She raced around the house and through a maze, glad that her two moms have spent a normal day without unexpected guests. Her sheer joy and relief gave me a reason to smile.
God has seen me through another first, going back to work. Another first. Tomorrow morning I go to file for death benefits.
By God's grace as shown through all of you, I know I will make it.