So much stuff swirling around in my head I get dizzy. Part of me doesn't want to move past March 30th. Wants the world to stop with me and react the same way I am. Can't see any possibility of good coming out of life anymore. And part of me tries to make every single thing I do, I do for Mary, to honor her life, to keep her going. So, life has to go on if I do that. It's such a conundrum and it's driving me crazy. I do all these things for Julie and the kids because I know Mary would have and would want me to. I would have done them anyway but there's more power behind it because of Mary. She's right there beside me. Holding on to all of us. She's everywhere, with Tony, with her friends, with the rest of us, all the time.
And the next part of me knows I have to go on with things that have nothing to do with her, which is the hardest thing in the world to do. Pick up where I left off with my work, my house painting, my whatever I was doing before. Work is the hardest. Going there feels like nothing ever happened. And I don't like the feeling, I can't accept it, it's very hard to do.
Lastly there are the new things in my life I need to do carry on her legacy. I am only beginning to get a grasp of what I can do and it's pretty overwhelming.
The seminar I attended at Emory is an example of everything being pushed together. I volunteer my time now for both Danny and Mary and I was doing pretty good that day until at a break someone asked me what my bracelet was for. Out came the tears and Mary's program, the hugs from strangers, and the silence of not knowing what to say to me. All of a sudden I was changed from one person of 100 people to the center of attention (albeit a small group) and it was weird. I was transported back to March 31st. Then as instantly as it happened, the seminar started again and I was whisked back to "reality".
I'm in a very confused state right now and I can't figure out how to straighten it out, if I even want to, or whether I should try or not. The only time I don't feel guilty for living my life is when I'm writing or thinking about Mary, or doing something with all her things, or telling people about her. And doing those things stops me from living, I'm just existing.