I’m getting to the end of my gracious length of rope – already! Everyone wants to know how I’m doing, and the right answer involves stuff like “he died peacefully” and “he was such a great man” and “we didn’t want him to suffer” and “impossible recovery” and “hospice care” and “holding up”. I’m tired of all those terms, even though they’re absolutely true.

Today I’m feeling more like telling people that I miss the shit out of him already and it’s only been a week. How I’d see him there when we exited the train station at New Haven, standing by the car and wearing a plaid shirt and corduroys with the burgundy suspenders, and he’d look so pleased as punch to see me, and I’d be pleased as punch to see him too, and only one hug was enough to say that. How I never got tired of hearing him say “hi, love” down the phone even if it was third time that day. I feel like telling people that anything is better than gone, that even when he was sick and wordless I loved sitting by the hospital bed and just looking at him, how I’d bring a book and never read it because my eyes just wanted to rest on his face, a face I’ve known my whole life and maybe even a little before.

Last night I dreamed that he came downstairs and we were all so happy to see him even though we knew he’d died, and how he explained very simply that we’d always be able to sit down in my dreams and have dinner together, and that I could tell him what was going on and he’d remember it the next time. I’d like to think my brain is so tired of thinking about Before so now it’s finding ways to live in an After.

I guess there’s no polite way to say all that when someone asks you how you’re
doing. They’re not asking you whether you’re bouncing back. What they mean is, can you carry on? And I guess I can.