For Life's Not A Paragraph, And Death I Think Is No Parenthesis
You know when you've put something off because it's unpleasant, and then it becomes harder and harder to bring yourself to do it, and then it snowballs into such an overwhelming task that you throw your hands up like "to heck with this!" and then you proceed to re-watch The Great British Baking Show every night instead of writing? Just me? Oh. Well fine then. It's been four weeks since Paul died. And while I'm not ready to write about his death just yet, I can say that it was mostly peaceful, and we were with him the moment he drew his last breath. Saturday would have been our sixth wedding anniversary. Six good years, but not enough of them. People keep asking how I'm doing and my response is usually something along the lines of "I'm okay. That is, in this exact moment of time I'm okay. Ask me again in five minutes and I'll possibly be bawling into a bag of Doritos." I guess that's grief? This is all new terrain. I've never ...