Wearing Sadness Like a Soft, Old Sweater

I am wearing my sadness like a soft old sweater. Grief is not what I thought it would be. It is like slowly walking through deep water. The world presses around me like the layers of water and I feel as if soft bunting is wrapped around me, like a cocoon. It is between me and the world and it acts like a filter. Inconsiderate motorists no longer annoy me. My messy house is not longer a concern. Whether I eat or not seems of secondary importance. I continue to exercise as it provides some relief for my sluggish brain. I realize I have a long journey ahead of me with many sharp stones in the road. At the drug store picking out cards for showers and looking for Purell hand sanitizer with aloe. I used the last of it in my car before consuming my burrito. It smelled so clean and fresh - a smell that I associated with my mother and I knew I had to buy more. Now. I find the shower cards after a long time searching. I instinctively reach for a birthday card that has purple pansies on it. Mom likes those little flowers and many things I have bought for her have those damn pansies on them and I now can't buy them along with so many other things and I know I will still keep reaching for them in stores and boutiques because that is what I do. I buy cute little stupid things for my mother and now I can't. So as if this blanket of grief is not enough I will need to retrain myself to not let objects and smells and cards remind me of my mother. I need to start thinking differently and reacting differently and I don't know how to do this.