Mourning vs. Meds

My mother passed away a week ago.  I don't know if it's the meds or me, but all I can feel is numb and suppressed, almost happy, as if didn't happen.  Except for the immense physical exhaustion and pain and general moroseness and tight anger and occasional desire to cry into my soup.  The last one is kind of scary given that I wrote a poem earlier this year that included the lines

"Staring at my bowl of oatmeal, I wonder
Staring at my bowl of oatmeal, I cry
Staring at my bowl of oatmeal, I remember
(Staring at my bowl, I sigh)"

I wonder what will win out, the meds, me, or the grief?