Well, it's as stormy as San Diego gets in August. Heard the raindrops and the wind blowing through the trees and retreated to the patio with some candles and my computer. The computer because I got an email from Jodi asking Brian and I to pick the song lyrics that should appear on Mark's headstone. It's going to be beautiful and since she narrowed down the band, I'm listening to different albums and reading the lyrics to see which one hits me as right.
As the wind moves through the trees, the rain stops and I realize just how much I don't want to be doing this. At first blush, it gives me something to do to keep distracted and occupied but eventually, the magnitude hits me that I'm helping design my best friend's headstone and I'm in the prime of my life. Well, before this I thought I was, now I'm not so sure. Mark's death shakes my foundations to the core - I felt youngish, thought I was youngish but he's dead and I saw it happen so how can I possibly believe that now?
I can feel this line of thinking leading to crawling the walls, pacing the patio so I am going to run quickly up to bed and read a book about a mother dealing with the confusing, challenging non-linear journey of grief. I read it and every 10 pages, a sentence jumps out at me and I repeat it to myself like a mantra and think "Yes" because it touches part of the wound inside of me.
Good night.
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