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Sorrow As Substance, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:31am

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Although I don’t want to write much about death (not having a large enough spirit to embrace the idea) I was thinking.

Sadness on the loss of a loved one, when they were ready and clear, is different than grief over someone who left in other circumstances. Not brilliant, but deeply felt.

I mourn the loss of my father. I loved him very much. He was with me all my life, and in the last few years became one of my closer companions. But he was 91, and clear and ready. That loss feels like sad water; a pool in a forest, reflecting light.

My best friend died at 60, of a brain tumor she refused to get diagnosed for months as symptoms increased. In a pandemic. That loss feels more like a hole in the ground guarded by snapping rodents. A terrible image, but that’s how it comes to me. Hard to find loss through the regret and anger.

One more thing. Both these events were out of my hands. I have lived with other losses as constant questions–what could I have done better?  There’s something to be said about learning to accept.

Have a good weekend.

I apologize in advance for not replying. Still trying to heal my arm/elbow/whatsit.

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