I’m having real coffee this morning.
Real coffee has always been the first order of business each new day (“decaf coffee” being a contradiction in terms, you see), but in these first weeks of Solo Living, I haven’t always managed to pull it off.
Earlier this week, for example, I ground the beans, measured the water, and shortly thereafter poured disappointingly hazy brown liquid into my waiting mug.
It was hot, yes. Coffee, no.
Upon investigation, it turned out I hadn’t put the grounds in the filter; they were still in the grinder, which I had already put back on the shelf.
The next day, I did not make that mistake. No, instead, I counted the beans directly into the filter before I realized what I was doing.
And I guess I will mention the time even the presence of real coffee was insufficient. It was the morning I went into the world, having spent time combing my hair, brushing my teeth and applying a smidge of makeup so I could be presentable.
Only to discover my shirt was inside out.
Why am I writing about this? Because I am finding in a time of grief, even the simplest, most routine tasks take a hit. Even the ones you’ve been doing for decades. And I want any of you who are newly bereaved to know you have company, and that this, too, shall pass.
Grief’s propensity for scattering the pieces of your brain to the wind, or pinging it pinball-style thing to thing to thing, may derail you such that you forget what you meant to do. Or when you do make an effort, it doesn’t come out as you meant to.
This is normal, though admittedly disheartening. Kindly give yourself latitude. This is new terrain you are navigating. But in time, I believe you will find the fog lifts as you regain traction and establish new rhythms.
So if you come across a caffeine-deficient person with her shirt inside out, or if you should be such a one, understand this is normal, all part of learning to do Life again, of undergoing the uneven process of Healing.
Starting with the coffee.