Practical Matters

Chores, tasks, errands, groceries, laundry, dishes, cat care, garden care, taking out the trash and compost, oil changes, paying bills, thinking about work and health insurance and Swedish Death cleaning–these jog right alongside grief and don’t stop. There’s some comfort in knowing that life goes on whether we like it or not. And then there’s the sensation of being overwhelmed still? All over again? We did these things together and facing the minutiae of daily life made it fun, less overwhelming for sure.

Seamus, our indoor-outdoor Maine coon that adopted us at Pioneer Park the summer of 2014 has a habit of getting into scuffles (no awareness of boundaries when he’s got people to meet and hands that haven’t petted him yet). For a while, Bryan and I were taking him to the vet every three months for stitches, a drain, and a shot of antibiotics. Have mercy. It’s been a while, but he managed to get another infected bite recently. The Animal Clinic East crew have taken care of him and he’s home with the cone of consequence. Bryan’s stoicism in the midst of these sorts of things was something I leaned on really heavily and I miss it so much. I’m an emotional whirlwind and it gets worse with stress and lack of sleep. His confidence and his assurance helped settle me. And now I have to do these things alone. And I HATE IT.

I don’t mean to paint such a picture of woe, because it’s not always like that. For example, yesterday evening Mary came over to help me prepare dinner for her best friend and her wife and daugther. We made chicken parmigiana and peach cobbler. Mary had brought a boule of homemade bread she had made that morning. Watching a little toddler dance and try to sweep and eat tomatoes was so joyful. At one point, they all went outside to collect basil and I observed them from my kitchen window. Here were grown women and a little girl and I got to see the circle of life in the place where they had grown up playing, imagining, loving each other. It was so incredibly precious. Practical matters and routine get bounced for really hard stuff AND for extraordinarily beautiful stuff. Most of the time, though, it’s all happening at once.

My heart is heavy. My heart is full. My heart aches. My heart sings.