Anthony died last week.
I’ve not wanted this writing to be all about grief and dying, but it’s hard to think about many other things this year.
Yesterday was the thirtieth anniversary of my father’s death. It was the first anniversary of our cat Gilbert’s death last year.
And in a moment of joy that has lasted a day more than a year and is going strong, it was the birthday of the son of friends of ours.
It’s difficult to answer the question, “how are you doing,” because I’m not the one that died. I’m not even related to the one that died. And I was on a brutal job last week that was averaging 16 hours a day. So when I say that I’m tired, but basically okay, that’s true. It was difficult to verbalize Anthony’s death last Friday night and Saturday morning. It’s not so difficult now. I don’t have any confidence that this represents anything substantive. I might just be at the peak before I hit the trough. I’m not really thinking that hard about how I am. It’s very complicated, and it doesn’t seem very relevant yet. But to respond that way is… dickish.
My sister-in-law is defending her thesis this week. My friends’ baby boy is one year old. Cling to joy.