Liminality

 Entry 1.   5:49 p.m.

I texted Jenny's principal today. I told her I am not able to help plan the event and that I do not intend to attend the TOPS memorial for Jenny. I can't do it. She is smart enough to plan on not having the memorial in the gym. She expects more than 500 people to attend the event.  I also told her the girls will not attend if Eric is present. She understood both positions, and will reach out to Leiney. 

I also learned today the school intends to create a mural, a park bench or some other permanent remembrance. I asked that they not use the same muralist that painted Eric. The principal agreed.

Dog walkers came today. That was a pleasant happenstance. The dogs are always much happier after a long walk. 

I am sinking, I can feel it pulling hard.  Hard. I am experiencing lethargy. m

Simple movement takes effort. I am incredibly low. I can't say how long it has been since I have felt this way, but I would guess it is more than 20 years, maybe never.

I ordered high end sushi again tonight, hoping it would cheer me. 

The good news is the children are stable, better than expected. I am walking around numb and sad, sadder by the moment, hopeless even. The tinnitus, my loyal companion since I was about 10, is louder than I remember it ever being, but that  may be because I am so quiet.

 The house is quiet as well. The daily routine, established over these many months, broken. 

Things seem so normal. Abby is working on finals. Leiney is volunteering at Playgarden. The dogs bark at anything and nothing at all. I sit like a potted plant, occasionally paying bills, cleaning the fridge, paying bills and doing other mundane things. People reach out. I don't ignore, but dutifully reply, saying the least, or should I say the minimal amount, that I can. It hurts to think about everything. It hurts to answer if I am ok, if the kids are ok. It hurts to do the routine, it hurts to do new things. I am striving for stasis. I want to be captured in gelatin, impervious to the outside, perfectly still. I am on the outside of my old life, on the edge, precipitous change swirling.

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