It is work.
It is like walking through Jello.
Or thigh high mud.
It is arduous.
It is exhausting and confusing and stupid and shameful and full of guilt and anger and sadness and aloneness.
I started reading Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's book, Grief and Grieving, The Five Stages of Grief.
She died before she saw her last book in print.
She is amazing.
She knows me. She has seen my pain and is explaining it to me, step by agonizing step.
It helps to know I am normal.
It helps to know that others have (and every minute, join me) gone before me in this journey.
I hope TBHITW meets her on the other side.
As I talk with my family and friends I have found out that TBHITW has been busy. He has been visiting people. Even some of you. I take these accounts into my heart and it makes me smile.
He lives.
As I told the 20 year old tonight, away at college, over the phone, he lives in us. The 20 year old dreams of him. It is comforting. I assured him that is his dad. Visiting him, caring for him.
TBHITW's brother called me today to tell me of his dream. TBHITW was on a houseboat. His brother asked him what he was doing on a houseboat, he reminded him that he was dead. TBHITW replied, "this is the waiting place". "What are you waiting for?" TBHITW replied, "heaven". On a houseboat? And TBHITW replied, "We get to choose our waiting place, I chose, this. Beautiful, right?"
Yes. A houseboat would be beautiful.
I made salmon yesterday. TBHITW did not like salmon so I never made it for him. But the 16 year old and I love salmon.
I found cedar papers that I had bought a while back. I marinated the salmon in brown sugar and ponsu sauce, wrapped it in the cedar papers and grilled it. I made tri-colored couscous and fresh steamed green beans. It was sweet and smoky and sad and happy and everything that life is. You get to unwrap it when you are ready. Just like a present.
