Forty-five days ago my father died.
Shortly thereafter, the following advice magically appeared in my inbox: “Free-fall into what’s happening.”
I didn’t want to do that.
I’ve been afraid to think or digest or write or talk or feel. Luckily, I haven’t had time to do so.
I could fill today, too–with my stupid, endless lists and obligations–but for once, I put wallow on the list.
I’ve tucked my box of grief into a corner and left it to fester, to rot, to multiply and mutate. it’s time to bring it out in the daylight and examine its contents.
- Drink lots of decaf and eat something lovely and chocolate.
- Listen to beautiful, sad music.
- Make something I like.
- Go for a walk. Sit in a tree.
- Watch a Very Sad Movie. Bring lots of tissues.
- See what happens.
But first, let me move the car. Parking tickets are not therapeutic.