Today I love how life goes on with or without me and how every time I lose someone it gets a little easier to get up and get going again without feeling guilty that I have things I need to attend to. I love that there is still that feeling, the thought that the world should stop what it is doing and make time for saying goodbye, but of course that cannot be. I love the W.H. Auden poem, Funeral Blues, that begins with the words, “Stop all the clocks …” because that is exactly how it feels to lose someone. I love the last lines, “Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.” though it isn’t a thing that lasts. I love that friends and family hold tight to the lines that suspend the mourner over the dark abyss that appears at times like this and that they put just enough strain on those lines that, when I am ready, their hold will start to pull me back from these depths. I love that I survive and can be strong for others, for I too hold fast the lines that reach to those whose loss is just as great as mine.
Today I love the perfect weather that we are having. I love the sudden twinge of guilt for enjoying this day when it is one of the first that my father will be missing here in almost nine decades of days good and bad. I love that the world is bustling and rumbling just beyond my door and I love that I will have to step out into it yet again in a very short few moments in order to take care of the pesky things that need to be taken care of all the time, some flour, a light bulb, a bill to pay and a bit of string and a packet of screws and who knows what all else, things that are not imperative to the human condition but things whose lack would be felt way more than their presence. I love that I know going out will lift me one more step up from this place.
Today I love oatmeal for breakfast. I love acting on the choice of coffee or tea for a packed lunch for someone going to work. I love that each day is identical and yet each one has its quiet differences. I love that Tuesday’s laundry will soon be done, a bit late I’m afraid this week, but there it is bouncing playfully on the line, and so it is okay. I love that I get to sit each day and write about life and love and thus am forced to examine it, its fair smooth skin and the wrinkles that time soon reveals. I love my wrinkles, each one talking openly and frankly about the things I’ve done and seen, said and heard, created and destroyed.
Today I love drinking coffee while I admire this second day of my life that is mine but not his, and feel the forward motion of moving on.