Grief again.

Too bad I can’t see in the dark like a cat, or type without looking at the keyboard. I have a new Bluetooth for use with my phone, using a note app. I guess I could also use a speech app, but slowing down my typing in this case works.


Let me fill you in about the pile of grief Christmas brought. Really, f%ck the holidays if this is the result. Why it takes me by surprise is not the question, but of the duration this time. The disconnect, the loss of self. Another death, mine. The involuntary thoughts of what could have been, flooded me. Anger that I see now what is possible, but he is gone. Grieving a level of loss of someone else’s future. Maybe mine too. Mine too.

Even as I am taking steps toward my future, in my daily actions, in the present, that do not include Rich, I carry him. I carry you Rich. Most times you are light, like starlight, ever present, not always visible. That is why the weight of holidays is such a surprise. The duration terrible. A reminder that we all carry something, someone, sometimes just ourselves, as a burden rather than another light in the world.

I feel like self-destructing. I am. Maybe as part of reconstructing. Yes, that is it.  I can reconstruct. Rich can’t. He deserves to, he wasn’t finished on this planet; even though his body betrayed him mightily his spirit was so strong. Alexandra the same. Harry too. 


Who do I have responsibility for? Who can I fulfill? What do I have to share? What do I need to nurture myself to bring this to fruition? Will I do it? Whatever it is. Maybe grief fear judgment is all the same. Maybe that is why we need births resurrections.

Depression is a killer. A robber. Lurking. Breaking in. Stealing, sometimes taking, leaving emptyness. Unlike santa claus, or god. Mystical, magical parts of us we sometimes remember to call upon, or ourselves, ready to unfurl the cloak. And fly.