Small steps sometimes feel huge

I don't feel like I've done much of anything since we buried Mom on Saturday. In fact, more often than not, I have been in a fog the past six days, except for spontaneous bursts of tears that have soaked my clothes and caused me to clean my glasses.

I've tried multiple times to write thank you notes and have yet to complete them. All of the memorials, plants, flowers, and other instances of kindness deserve personal thank you notes. I will get them done, just not as soon as I would like.

I need to do some laundry, but the pile of dirty clothes remains.

I need to put away a few groceries that I bought several days ago, yet they remain in the bags they came in. (Don't worry. Nothing perishable. Though I did buy some fruit cups and fruit snacks, which for me is huge!)

Having lost both parents and my dog in the past 20 months, I have tried to give myself permission to just be for a little while, yet the nagging voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that there is much to be done and I need to get to work.

Perhaps that is why the few small things I have been able to accomplish, that under normal circumstances might seem trivial or insignificant, have seemed like huge accomplishments.

Yesterday, before our trash was picked up, I managed to trim some branches off of one of the trees out front. They were hanging low enough that the young man who mows for me had to duck to get past them. I got them cut off, cut up, and in the trash cart with an hour to spare before the trash truck came by. Not a big deal, but it felt hugely significant.

The day before, after getting yet another scam call for my Dad, I called AT&T and scheduled to have our landline canceled at the end of the period for which I had already paid. Not really a big deal, but Mom and Dad had that same number longer than I have been alive. It is the first telephone number I learned as a kid, back when we used letters in front of the numbers and rotary phones. 

I mainly use my cell phone now, so I just couldn't see paying as much as we were for a line that we used little more than for receiving scam calls. The only reason I kept it after Dad died was because it was the only phone Mom knew how to use. Initially, I transferred Dad's cell phone over to Mom, but learning and remembering it were just too much for her dementia addled brain to grasp.

Getting AT&T to shut down the line took all of five minutes, but it still felt like a huge endeavor.

Today I made an appointment with the family lawyer to start the legal process for Mom's estate.

That is basically all I have accomplished in six days, yet it feels as though I have done a lot.

My goal is to do a little here and there until I can get some major tasks completed. I know the spontaneous tears will continue, but I believe I have at least made a start in creating what will be my new normal.