The thing is, I didn’t think I would be this sad. But here I am days after my cousin’s memorial service, still crying at the slightest provocation, feeling fragile like a piece of delicate high-end wedding china, small in the face of loss.
The sky is light blue, my hydrangeas are in full bloom, and the beach is ready for the taking. We’re smack in the middle of my favorite season, and yet it might as well be winter, because Nina Simone, you got nuthin’ on me; I’ve got the blues.
Dying is part of this show, but Jeez, it’s not the fun part. They should really try to make this death thing a little more fun.
But to know that you loved someone so much that you feel a little part of yourself has been surgically removed, is lucky in some bizarre (and painful) way. And that’s how I feel, that gnawing in the stomach that loss delivers like UPS, an overall sadness, an achy breaky heart.
The gratitude comes in waves, of having been fortunate enough to have known someone you truly loved. I just wish it didn’t come with this heaping side order of sad.