Ten.Eight Hundred & Five

1. So dark. Darker than usual. Must be clouds.

2. I put some bacon in the oven, brew the coffee, and wash dishes. Almost two weeks without a dishwasher which is too long when there are 5 people in a home and you make every meal from scratch. But we are remembering the therapeutic benefits of hand-washing. It’s become a meditation.

3. I try my best to make the braid. I am sure it will be undone by the time she comes home from school.

4. Rain. A real rain. I thought they meant just a drizzle, but this is coming down hard.

5. Next time I know not to take Greenville Road. Never take Greenville Road.

6. He opens the door for me and drives us out of the gate and to the cottage. He tells me that he was in the hospital with his son over the weekend. I look at him in the eyes and say, “But how are you doing?” He starts to cry and tells me that he has to be strong for his son. I place my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t have the words. Or maybe there are too many words. So we just look at each other and maybe that’s enough for this morning.

7. How do we make room for grief when life must go on? What happens to us on the inside when we exhaust ourselves trying to “put on a brave face”? Where can we go and feel as though we can safely express our true feelings in the midst of it all? How do we make sure that even complete strangers know that someone cares?

8. I offer to take him to the library before we pick up his older brother. We put the windows down. I’m so ready for this weather.

9. I text to make sure she’s okay. She says she is. I might be oversensitive to hurt feelings among friends. I might be projecting. Everything is fine. I love that they found a way to play softball in the park, just the four of them.

10. I just want everyone to go to bed now.