Cerebrum Incognito

Manhattan, July 2022.
It hit like a ton of bricks, really. The 25th wedding anniversary is the hardest thing I have faced yet. This is the hard time, the time a friend, worried about me, called to talk about just 3 weeks ago. I didn't see it coming. Now, like Stockton Rush when at the helm of the Titan III, I feel the weight of the ocean is pushing in from all sides, and I have stupidly bolted the hatch shut from the outside. Curled up into my snail-sized shell, I am holding on for all its worth. 

I have been out to do things with Abby, as I am trying to swallow the dreaded thought that she will be in Massachusetts in just a few short weeks, and I will truly be alone in this house with Willow, surrounded by memory and regret.

Gardening has offered some respite from dwelling on the gloomy prospect of loss. I am doing all I can to get used to the idea of being solo. How does one do it? The only time I have lived alone in my entire life I failed miserably. The only thing that saved me was Jenny, who came to my rescue, and brought me home before I did something drastic and stupid. Without that anchor, or that wind in my sails, what is to keep me moving, or to push me back to the dock should I become unmoored?

Other than that, things are peachy.

 


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