March 7, 2023

Nighttime is the worst. The cats or nature insist I get up more than once or twice each night. And each time I wake up, the dawning realization of this new way of being smacks me in the face. He’s not here. I sobbed and sobbed last night. These thunder showers come quickly, are intense, and leave me so tired. Grief is exhausting. This heartache is mixed with the most confusing swirl of emotions–a demand for life and living. I want to taste food and dance and sing and connect with friends and loved ones and see the beauty of nature and create and basically shake the ever living tar out of this life because he did. I think maybe it’s a very human reaction to witnessing death.

This morning, Lori and I took turns listening to music from our youth. I danced and laughed. House of Pain, Joshua Kadison, Sir Mix-A-Lot, Pebbles, Sophie B. Hawkins, Mr. Big, Boyz2Men, Lauryn Hill, and so many others. I remembered things long forgotten. What a gift. I’ve also been encouraged to listen to music I’ve never heard before and it’s breathtaking and haunting. I’ve played Sara Bareilles “You Matter To Me” a couple of times at least.

Bryan, Mary, and I used to spend evenings taking turns playing songs we loved, sharing with each other, finding overlap in our tastes. The past few days has been a revisiting of that for me, for which I’m so grateful. It’s easy to find moments of joy every single day. It’s also easy to be shattered that I can’t share those with him.