The first one happened when I got an email from the man at Dartmouth who runs the writing group, inviting me to the next series. I was happy to hear from him; I enjoyed the writing group and like him. I was happily reading it and thinking that was fun; I even went to one of the groups when I was in the hospital and right about at the words "I was in the hospital," part of my brain continued by momentum to finish the thought, feeling happy, and part of my brain felt like it completely froze up and went right to being in the conference room when I was in the hospital and went off to the writing group. It was the weirdest feeling and I suddenly felt very anxious. It passed in a few minutes.
The other time it happened was one day driving into the Hospice House driveway, I had to park on the side and thought to myself, again happily, it is nice to see so many cars here; it reminds me of last summer [freeze] when there were all the volunteer events here. This one passed faster.
It is such an odd feeling. It really feels like part of my brain is in happy thought and part of my brain is like a deer in the headlights. People who are grieving talk about how the grief can surprise them, like when they see the first raspberries of the year and their loved one loved raspberries. It seems like that a bit. It also makes me think of what people say about quitting smoking; that you don't just quit once, but you quit in every single situation that you used to associate with smoking. Maybe I need to normalize (I think that's the right word) the leukemia in every situation.
In non-leukemia related news, I went for my second run of the season on Thursday. Isn't this beautiful?
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