I had a busy day, and came home to three hungry animals. When did my life turn into coming home from work to three little ones clamoring for their dinner? They don't even give me time to catch my breath!
I had the radio on coming home, and heard James Taylor. Won't you look down upon me, Jesus. You've got to help me make a stand - just got to see me through another day. My body's aching and my time is at hand. I won't make it any other way. That one always gets to me.
Today I was remembering our anniversary a few years ago, when we decided to actually celebrate it on the 20th. We drove up the Red Arrow Highway, got lost, blew a tire on a deserted dirt road, and you know the rest. We had a history of automotive disasters on our anniversary. Remember that one time we blew not one, but two, tires, and spent the night in Clare, Michigan? The tradition started early - it was on our first anniversary that we were driving through Savannah in a monsoon, and the battery fell into the radiator fan. Anyway, we decided a few years ago that we'd never again take the car out of the garage on our anniversary. With a nod to Dylan's Talking Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues, we said from then on we'd celebrate by having a picnic in our bathroom. Good times.
The Weight of Grief
So I'm missing you tonight. I feel sad, and also very heavy. It's hard to explain, but sometimes grief feels like a weight and it seems hard to move. I turn inward, and things from outside me feel very far away. I know that all of this is normal. It's just not very comfortable. But, as Lord Peter Wimsey once asked, is your, or mine, or anyone else's comfort all that important? And, of course, is isn't.
I'll try to be more cheerful in the morning! Everything feels worse after dark. Sleep good, and think about me. I love you so, so much.