I’ve been moving through the city for the last two days, couch surfing, visiting with friends I haven’t seen in a long time, having business meetings, stopping off to work and charge my phone in various cafes, feeling, finally, that I am on my own again, a woman with a future that is completely unknown. I have the work of mourning ahead of me, and I’ve been given the advice to pay attention to the feelings in my body, and not follow the thoughts that are unhelpful; when they come up, I’m supposed to distract myself, and, again, focus on the intensity of the feelings in my body. It is a lot like being sick, this person said—you just have to go through it.
I think of Scout, and how after he died I just lived my life as usual—doing the dishes, throwing out the compost, driving to the market—while tears fell down my cheeks, nonstop for days, just because they did. It was O.K.—there weren’t many thoughts, except that I hoped that, wherever he was, he was O.K., and not afraid.
I don’t want to go through this part of the process quickly. I want to give my feelings their due. It is an incredible gift to have loved someone, and the loss of that experience and that person is probably as bad as it gets. I don’t believe we are on this planet to buy shit and watch TV and drink ourselves into oblivion. I believe we are here to be touched by just a few extraordinary beings. So that’s where I’m at.
I hope you’re well. When you kiss the person you love tonight, think of me, being very, very happy for you. You have it now: You are lucky.