there is nothing so whole as a broken heart
(written by a rabbi a long time ago)
I feel most complete, most whole, when I am able to just be with my thoughts, my loss. Whether it is cooking, cleaning, showering, walking, mounting pictures in a scrap book, doing yoga, or petting the dog, I like being able to be in the moment with my sadness instead of being forced to move on and push it aside to do my work.
I took the day off today to be with myself, and so far I am glad I did.
I made a Spanish omelet, lentil soup, flax muffins, played ukelele with Tony, read from a book on dark emotions, and am about ready to take a shower.
It is eight months today that I have been missing Lev, and while at six in the morning it seemed silly to cram grief into a day off, now at ten o'clock it seems wise.
The passage I read that made me cry this morning was of a grown cat, spending two weeks looking in every corner of the house looking for its mother, who it saw die. After being sure it could not be found, it curled up and sulked, not eating much for a couple more weeks.
I also remember reading about a man who for months would walk for hours every night "looking" for his son, walking past the store where he was shot while robbing it.
I alternate between looking for Lev to walk down the stairs, wanting to curl up in a ball and mourn, wanting to walk without stopping, and just going on with things as they were before, trying to suck any fulfillment out of life that I can, still hoping in some way that we could return to our old normal if we just go on.
I think I'll go for a walk.
Rebecca
