It was Ash Wednesday this week and I went to the Mass service.
I have been fine these past few weeks. Although I think about Patrick numerous times in a day, I have not gotten upset like I used to. Sometimes I wonder if this is a 'good' thing, or if it is normal. I wonder if maybe I am not processing my grief enough. Surely, I should break down sometimes? Maybe I am busying myself so much with setting up work that I block out all the emotions which are there under the surface. Maybe I should not think about it too much or analyse it too much.
All this 'composure' went out the window on Wednesday night though. I have not been to Mass for a while so I thought nothing of going on Wednesday night. How stupid of me.
As soon as I step foot into a chapel I get so overwhelmed with everything, so sad about what has happened, and so utterly lost with how to carry this loneliness with me. The chapel reminds me of everything that we have been through. The chapel grounds is where Patrick is buried and where we go most weekends to 'see' him. I hate it. I hate having to go to a grave and stand in the rain. I find no comfort.
During the service I had to talk myself into staying calm; into staying composed. I went down to Patrick's grave at the end and all the calmness was overtaken by loneliness and grief. My poor boy. I would give anything to have him at home, warm, comforted... I will stop. There is not point in carrying on this chain of thought.
It is a mess, pure and simple.