I doubt I'll really be able to write about his death for a while. I've found comfort in talking about it, but putting words to screen in an attempt to tease any sort of meaning out of the tragedy seems to be a futile exercise at this point.
But some observations:
- Our detailed plans seem silly now. We've tried for years to plan our lives to the month, and I've stressed over it more than I care to think. When you have trouble catching your next breath, you are forced to live in the now. Perhaps Eckhart Tolle should have suggested asphyxiation.
- I went shopping the other day, granting myself a free day from anti-consumerism since we are, in fact, in a mourning period and the JCrew spring collection is like sartorial ganja to me. I couldn't have cared less. And not in this depressing way: "Oh nothing matters... not even pima cotton can make me face this wicked world." It just seemed boring. Amongst a tornado of gingham and raw silk, I just really wanted to read and pet my cat. (Does it count as a stance if you don't even want to do the act against which you're rebelling?)
- Pets are seriously the best thing ever. Seriously. On a RadioLab podcast, I learned of a theory that a certain parasite propagates itself by making cats extremely attractive to humans (gross oversimplification, dear science nerd readers). My infection might be fatal. My dog might be hosting a colony as well. Whatever the case, my furry men are the best little dudes to have around when you're grieving. They know when to distract, and they know when to say nothing and just be. Cathy always said that her funeral would be "pets welcome," and that's possibly the best damn idea I've ever heard.
