Grief is strange. It is like the ocean, coming in waves, and every seventh one is a biggie. If I don't clench up and try to fight it off, it washed over and through me, and I am back to this pale version of myself, one that feels hollow and fragile. And then it comes again. It is all doable. I reach into my program bag and pull out acceptance - it is what it is. And gratitude, for the years of sweetness and the gentle way he left the world, in my arms, just drifted away. And the axiom that it is about action, so I just do the next right thing, like the laundry. Little things elude me. Like eating. Not very interested at the moment, so I bought frozen dinners that I can nuke in minutes and nibble on. I look at this as a new phase of my life, and newness always seems shaky in the beginning. Pickle and I are bonding in a brand new way. We need each other a lot right now. Crying is releasing. It is a good thing. Loss is inevitable in this earthly existence. I can no longer discount it. My heart is cracked wide open here. More room for love there than ever.
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