I've learned that for me, part of the grieving process is a serious lack of concentration. i can't read books right now, not novels at least, not fiction, not even mystery fiction. It requires that I retain and remember who these people are and what happened a few pages back and I can't do it. I had to bow out of reviewing some terrific stuff, including work by Loren Estleman, because of this lack of focus.

It's an odd feeling since, well, pretty much all my life, reading is my everything answer. Depressed, happy, lonely, busy, restless, relaxed, I read. i can't go to sleep without spending some time in bed reading before I turn off the light. I don't go anywhere where I might have to wait in line - the post office, the bank, the pharmacy, a store, any store, without having a book. I have a stack of "bathroom books" handy and usually something silly inthe bathroom (borrowed from Jerry Jacks years ago who had a small bookcase outside the bathroom full of such things before they called them"bathroom books".) In my working years, especially commuting for an hour or more to work every day, I read. I read a lot. But the book I was reading when Pat called to say Mom was gone is just there and I may never finish it, dammit. It's a book by someone whose work I like and who's been, um, well, away? for a while. A new book, a new character. And I've gotten some great review books to read and I have a box of library stuff. But the focus required of a reader of fiction eludes me. Non-fiction is somewhat better. Of course you have to concentrate, but I've decided to let myself off the hook and just to skip if I have to. Which I do. I've been looking through lots of coffee table/photo/art collections. That great collection of New Yorker covers. Those books of dollhouse miniature design. But I'm trying to get back to reading words. I need to.

The only other time I felt this way was, not surprisingly, after surgery. I recover from anesthesia very very slowly - it's apparently a family trait and I've talked with other people who feel the effects longer than normal. The first time this was an issue was 1974, when two days after my college graduation I went in for back surgery. It was an eight-hour procedure. And I was dopey for weeks. Could not read more than a paragraph, just lost it. This was before televisions were installed, with removes, in every hospital room and for weeks I did not have one. I was provided one at one point, sans remote and had a rather snarky discussion of this with the ward clerk who refused to understand why I refused to ring for a nurse if I wanted to watch a different channel. Or raise the volume. Or turn the thing on or off (I was only supposed to be getting up maybe once a day. I remember listening to the radio a lot - it was summer. There were Red Sox games. And those nurses kept me going during the five week hospital stay (I contracted staph or would have been out in three weeks. Yes, long time ago.)

I very much feel anesthetized right now. That same feeling of thoughts just skittering away when I need them to stay put. The challenge of accomplishing one thing start to finish, picking an item off a dinner menu. Remembering why I went into the office and then back again and finishing that thing. Either a gray fog shows up or there's the sound of little skittering feet up there in my brain. No evil laughter but still...

I started a couple of books and very much liked what I read. I'm worried now about the association and don't know about finishing them. I sure want to review at least one if not both of them. Though I am grateful to both editors who sent them. I've already received dispensation, if you will, to just read and enjoy.

When Cornelia picked us up at Logan Airport to drive us to Connecticut for the funeral, she said it would be a great time to tell her all my Mom stories. Didn't happen. And while I have sort of told some Mom stories in this past month, maybe it's time for me to try to go into a storytelling mode. If i can't read them, maybe I can write them. At any rate, my next post will include my favorite Mom story of all time. Maybe it will help the fug (I was going to change that to "fog" but maybe I should leave it!) burn off a bit. I know it's not gone - believe me I get that, but for a little while, it will burn off.