Grief Fog is a strange and powerful force. Perhaps the strangest part about living in a fog is that you don't realize it. You still think that you are in charge of your actions and are acting reasonably. You think it is perfectly normal to start crying in the tea aisle of Whole Foods and are completely shocked to learn that you haven't gotten out of bed for 3 days when you swore you had just gotten home.
Let me give you an example of the Fog and how it affects your cognitive skills. I parked my car under my building in the below ground parking garage and would drive to work very early in the morning while it was still dark. At work I would park in a parking garage attached to my office building, often leaving work when it was dark again. It was common for me to entirely miss the day. I repeatedly found myself sitting in my parked car, cut off from any hint of sky and couldn't remember if I was going to work, had gotten to work or had just driven home. I literally couldn't recall or state with confidence what I was doing. I would be trapped in the car trying to figure out what was real. It was an unnerving and untethering experience. I would eventually call my boyfriend Kienan and ask him if I should be going to work or coming upstairs to go back to bed. He was often my compass of reality and would continuously swoop in to point me in the right direction. Those times that I didn't get out of bed? He would eventually step in, always lovingly and with great care, and help me get back up.
For many months it felt like I was living in this Fog, like there was a veil between me and the world around me. I was slowly pulling myself back to the world of the living and learning to let the dead have their peace. It was a slow process.
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