it’s like a huge hole has been blown right into the center of our lives. and the hole will never heal or get any smaller, but our lives will continue to get bigger, so the hole won’t occupy the same percentage of the whole that it does now.
the stages of grief
are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.
today i am peeved that i’m dropping things, peeved that other people exist, and peeved that my baby is not here right now. peeved, i tell you. peeved.
oh, look at all the alive babies everywhere. how about if the entire freaking world keeps their living babies and healthy pregnancies and conversations about family and media images of children and baby announcements on facebook and any words related to the aforementioned (i’d be happy to provide a list) out of my life this week. that’s not selfish and unreasonable, is it?
[doing the dishes]
wait … what?
holy cow anxiety
it’s “holy cow anxiety” because you can pretty much say hello to every fear you’ve harbored since toddlerhood, including that one about ceasing to exist if you can’t have pie right now.
daydreams are like futurehopes. when the biggest futurehope of my daydream is impossible, dreaming becomes an exercise of futility. and, frankly, existentialism bores me.
the grief graph
remember when i talked about sky’s death as a huge hole in the center of our lives that won’t get smaller? in some ways it has the properties of a black hole, in that all of life comes back to that; conversations about other things always come back to sky. huge swaths of life got sucked into it, and we’re only just starting to get them out.