I wake feeling like I am at war. The dream time was full to overflowing but I remember none of it; I only remember how I feel
Finally it feels like a Spring morning. I make the coffee and head to the porch with my journals and pens and candles. If this needs to be my art space, I will take it.
The birds sing and the hammers tap out a rhythm that competes with the happiest sounding music. It is distant and yet near.
The yard is full of boys sword fighting. They might be men but they are boys at heart.
Afternoon errands and listening to podcasts. Krista Tippett talking to Ruby Sales. Where does it hurt? The question breaks me.
I'm sort of tired of feeling broken. Especially tired of feeling like I have little to nothing to offer to the others. How do you mend a broken heart?
We make dinner together and then go for a walk. I tell him that it all feels like a dream and he says, " I know" and I say ... "No, I mean it almost feels like a dream that he was ever here" I have to remind myself that he was real, that he was here just a few months ago ... and remind myself ... again ... that he is gone.
He tells me that he wants to say that everything is going to be OK but that he just can't say that now. It's OK. Noah tells me all the time. and I say to him that I don't believe him. and he tells me that I can't not believe him because he knows. OK.