I went to the store and the smell of the air made me five years old. Smell is so evocative and the smell of the air reminded me of walking in a park near my first home. I can smell Spring coming; a good sign for the day.
Then I do as I always do. I do my marking and answer yesterdays emails because I am freshest in the morning. And I turn on my favourite radio station that plays only Broadway show tunes (and without any commercials). And Mandy Patinkin came on, singing Lily's Eyes from The Secret Garden—heaven and another good sign for the day.
And then, as I write to my friends David and Bryan…. my hands go to my face and my face contorts and I am instantly in deep grief andy crying hard. It is overwhelming in the truest sense of the word.
I think about her all the time. Her loss makes me hyper aware of life, luck and health but I don't cry. I feel intensely all the time, but I don't cry. And then, if I try to write or say any words of affection to anyone—cat, dog or person—I burst into tears. I am triggered by thoughts of love.
Love and loss. I am orphan and that is what being an orphan is, to me, that's what life is to me: torn between love and loss. I get that. And we move on. I get that too. But I am not in control of the speed or the route.
I understand, yet again, where cliché metaphors come from—like grief coming in "waves."
But its all good. I am listening to Nathan Lane and Faith Prince singing Adelaide's Lament from Guys and Dolls, the sun is shining and I am cooking for friends who are coming for dinner tomorrow night. The wave ebbs. It's all good.