The world is a strange place, without him in it. I walk through each day surrounded by a fog. One moment, I'm fine and cheerful, and then suddenly I can't stop crying, for no reason other than the sun is shining and the sky is blue and he's no where around to enjoy it. I've grown terrified of saying good-bye to people; I am suddenly, painfully, aware that each parting may be the last time we speak. Life is brief. Life is fragile. No matter how many years we are given, it is never enough.
But life, as brief and fragile as it is, has the remarkable capacity to persist. And so I find myself pregnant, even while I mourn the loss of my father.
Please forgive me if I don't write for a while. Or, if I DO choose to write, forgive me if I don't make much sense. My head is too full of the mysterious interlocking duality of life & death to worry about the fiddly little things -- plus, if I'm not dealing with my sorrow and ruminating on the nature of existence, I'm throwing up my dinner.
Seriously. When the universe wants to teach me a lesson, it never does it in halves.
Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. - Anais Nin
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