Filling the Hole
Most people who know me wouldn’t be surprised that I unpacked every box and hung every picture in my new apartment in under three days - but I have to admit that’s a little fast even for me. I enjoy being organized, but I’m not someone who needs to have everything put away immediately in most circumstances.
I’ve moved before, but never at a time like this. I’ve never felt such strong internal pressure to get everything unpacked, and then, the morning after I finished, I woke up and felt strangely lost. It didn’t take me long to figure out why.
Moving - even though I was just moving a block and a half - is a distraction that requires a lot of brainpower and constant effort. There are a lot of moving parts (pun intended) and there were so many things on my to-do list that I could almost completely forget everything else that was going on if I prioritized the move completely.
But then, I found myself sitting in my lovely new office chair wondering what to do with myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t have distractions; I had all my familiar things plus my brand-new 6,000-plus piece LEGO Rivendell set. But I felt this overwhelming sense that nothing would be good enough to fill the hole.
Usually, I consider boredom or dissatisfaction in my life to be like a hole in my head that I can fill in a variety of ways. But now, it’s my heart that has a hole - a Nana-shaped hole that no matter what else I try to put in there, it won’t be the right shape.
My regular therapist and the grief counselor I saw when she was out of town agree that I’m doing the best I can and that things will eventually feel more settled. But until then, I feel the urge to throw myself into as many big projects as possible so that I don’t have time to sit around and think about the loss I’ve had. Since I know I get lost in my head, I’m trying to get lost in more pleasant things than grieving for the whole rest of my life that Nana won’t get to see.
There isn’t an easy solution for this hole. No matter how many projects I stuff inside, they won’t be more than a temporary fix. But I’m hoping that over time, the temporary fixes will feel more permanent and I’ll be able to have a better perspective on both the memories I cherish and the ones I won’t get to make.
For now, I just have to take it a day at a time and know that healing will come slowly but surely. All I can do is try to find a healthy balance between facing my feelings and distracting myself from them in a way that will enable me to feel stable and get things done at work, home, and beyond.
I’m filling the hole as best as I can. Nothing can replace Nana, but I have joined a new weekly board games group that makes me smile genuinely, I’ve started my most ambitious crochet project yet (a large stuffed Hobbes from the “Calvin and Hobbes” comic strip), and I’m playing plenty of “Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom” with breaks to deal with my own tears. I’m journaling, binging silly YouTube videos, and reading books about grief that are helping me put my feelings in a greater context.
I’ve struggled some with the idea that Nana wouldn’t want me to sit around and be sad, but that is going to be part of the process of learning to live with this empty hole that doesn’t go away. It’s new for me, and just like with other new things, I’m sure I’ll get there. But in the meantime, I’m trying to work with my head instead of against it by throwing positive obsessions at the problem until I can feel better in the moment - and at this point in the grieving process, I’ve been told that’s all I can really ask for.
Michelle Cohen, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.