The weeks are short but the days are long

It has been a month.  As a good friend used to say, isn't it all so fast and so slow?  I feel like my life went into slow motion as I watched his condition worsening and then his death.  I get up every day and dress and show up wherever I'm supposed to be, but I spend most of the day feeling like more of an observer than a participant in life, as though I am stuck. Everyone else is moving along in life,   I continue to feel adrift.  In some perverse way, sadness has become my anchor. I have these attacks of something akin to vertigo, this spinning of things I can't control.  I am disoriented.  I am in a bit of a panic.  I am stunned. Scared.  So, I reach for my sadness. It is, for now, my touchstone.