The rain is imminent. I can see it coming across the water, a heavy dark grey mass of misery and tears from the sky. Perfect. It's how I feel but I'm tired today. I'm worn down now. The antibiotics from last week didn't do the job and the doctor is coming back tomorrow. My physiology hates me, my kidneys even moreso. Ben tells me it's because nothing on the inside of me has any room to spread out, that it's all compacted in there and that causes problems. I know all this but today it's not funny, it's just another thing I have to deal with when nothing is supposed to intrude. This week is bookmarked, blocked off, highlit, set aside. I don't have time to be sick still. Then they'll just feel more sorry for me or make excuses, when there is no excuse for this. Not this long after.
Sam is right. Ben is right. Lochlan is always right. Schuyler was right, when he didn't push for me to stay so long at the party, which again ran for two days and thank heavens they only throw one like that every nine or so years because while it was just as magical as their wedding reception I attended less than half of it overall this time instead of the whole thing last time.
So fun though. A huge bonding experience for all of us, to be sure, and a wonderful chance to celebrate and mark the good things in life instead of always counting the days out from the bad things. The time removed. The exact numbers required by science that you are permitted to grieve until you are forced to feel better, dictated by someone who has probably never felt like this in their lives. Science won't answer these questions for me. Science might bring him back though and so I have to keep them in my pocket even as I want to point out grief really isn't a science, and no, there's no magic number. Sure you can move on, but honestly when you start out walking you walk forward by default, right? Your heart, your mind can easily get left behind while your body takes off in a flat run.
That isn't science, that's common sense.