Grief is starting to manifest itself in my life as a tendency to self-destructive behavior. I was not self-destructive when Dad died. With Mom dying, though, the grief is so different. Subterranean. Desires to escape — the vodka, the imaginary mudding worlds. And it’s so hard to be in this world, literally: the deep snow and bad foot are not a good combination.
I should think of Mom’s death in other terms than now I’m free — shouldn’t I?