beautiful darcy anne, my oh so dear friend for over twenty years though it feels like many more (did i ever not know darcy?), sent me the link to an article in the new yorker called good grief. as i just said to her in an email, i feel both better and sadder for having read it, but glad that i did. i'm lucky to have a friend like darcy. she helps me feel saner and i know she loves me when i veer off into crazy. fundamentally i don't think she really cares if i'm sane or if i'm nuts, and how many friends like that does a person really have?

the article talks, in part, about our culture's impatience with grief.... you're supposed to get through it and move on and if you can't, then at least have the good manners to not burden others. understand that when the vast majority of people ask how you're doing they don't really want to know and it's not even their fault. it's just how we do things. tomorrow will be three weeks since devin's accident. it's 17 days since he died and it feels like the blink of an eye. i suppose it is. being back at work is bizarre because i just don't give a shit. i understand it needs to be done and our bills need to be paid but who cares about research grants and quick vouchers? i can barely concentrate on anything except things that make me feel connected to dev and anything that interferes with that annoys me. half the time i want to hide in the bathroom. if i could i'd spend a month at home just being, which runs counter to everything i am culturally supposed to do. i'd sleep late and feel sad, and sometimes feel happy. i'd wander about aimlessly. the article mentioned that as something grieving people do and i identified with it so strongly. i don't know what to do with myself and i just feel myself drifting, but i can't do it as much as i need. it's easier to drift when everything is such a supreme effort. getting up is an effort. so is taking a shower, drying my hair, walking the dog, making dinner, doing dishes. talking. i'm exhausted and just want to wallow in it a while but day to day living interferes, and that tires me out even more.

moving on means different thing to different people, i suppose, but i'm in no hurry to do it. most people are talking about how the pain and sadness aren't so oppressive, so overwhelming, so sharp and raw and brutal. i know that will happen eventually even though it doesn't seem possible now. the things people say, the things i say to myself, just strike me as so odd... how do you ever move on, really, from such a loss? jamie died over six years ago and i think of him every day. every. single. day. why would i want to move on from that? why would i want to move on from devin? it just doesn't compute. it's not even realistic. i don't want to. i don't want to assure people i won't be sad forever, or manage their expectations that life goes on and that i get that. of course i fucking get it. i fucking hate it.

last night herbie wanted petted and instead of hopping into and then flopping in the tub like he usually does he flopped on the mat outside it. i petted his butt, just by his tail, gently digging my fingers into his fur. i petted his head, rubbing between his ears so that he tucked them down and back. it always looks to me like he's wearing a baseball cap backwards when he does that. when he flopped on his side i kept going, petting his chest, his side, even his belly a little bit, then went back to his chin and face and head. having beside-the-tub-time-with-herbie, petting him and listening to him purr like a motorcycle, was the best part of my day. i didn't have to re-assure him i'd be okay. i didn't have to feel self-conscious for being so down. i didn't have to worry that my delight in him was going to be misinterpreted as turning a corner or making progress. it was probably the only thing i did yesterday that wasn't an effort. i didn't have to do anything but enjoy how happy he was to be getting what he wanted and it was such a relief. i thought about how devin would have found herbie and his tub time so funny and how he would have enjoyed it, and how i was sad he never got the chance.