The Deep Dark Hole

I have taken myself to bed. It's been more than a week now that I have felt paralysed.
I'm not sure what I feel paralysed by, really. The doctor says it's grief.
You see, my son died.

He didn't die last week, or the week before, for that matter. He died on the 11th of November 2007. He was 20 when he died. A young, healthy 20 year old. Now dead.
I noticed that a few weeks before his birthday I started feeling particularly out of sorts. I was thinking about him all the time. That's nothing new really, because he is always in my mind, sitting gently at the back not causing a stir. But this time he came straight to the forefront, right in my face, if you will. I became tearful and angry, but mostly bewildered.

I could see myself slowly starting to unravel - like a loose thread being pulled from an already threadbare cardigan. I managed to drag myself to my doctor who has thankfully booked me off work. I am relieved, as I cannot bear the thought of having to face anyone, see anyone, hear anyone and certainly not speak to anyone.

I wish I could go away to somewhere where it is quiet. Very quiet.
I have not left my home this week except for the visit to the doctor. My husband runs me a bath every day, makes me toast with cheese on - which is what I've been living off, and sees to the children. Oh, yes - I don't think I've told you that. I have other children.
Three boys; ages 12,  almost 11, and 8.

My husband bought me some roses. They're lovely. They really are. And yet, when I look at them, they stir no emotion in me. Flowers usually do and it's not just flowers that are guilty right now of not being able to lift this heavy cloud, it's everything. "Ah, classic signs of depression", I hear you say. Perhaps. I know the signs - nothing gives you pleasure anymore. Yes, it would seem that that's where I'm at.