Dumpster Fire - Lamest Doomsday Ever, Michael Shermer On The Truth About Conspiracy Theories, Factory Settings - Therapy, Politically Homeless - Seeking Common Sense, In Defense of Paranoia & Merch
Life is a brief candle. Sometimes it seems like the brighter it burns, the quicker it is gone.
My heart is assembled with (crazy) glue, the pain emanating from your loss, Bridget, seeps into the cracks.
What an assignment we have: live life in the moment , don't fear the reaper, have a 401K, don't stop thinking about tomorrow, live while I'm alive. It's the same philosopher who said "Supersize me" and "Be a size zero."
Life is a series of contradictory rules. And they just get stranger.
Last night my husband - a long time women's pelvic surgeon - was told he can't be honored by a particularly organization because only women can recognized for this healthcare honor. The same organization refuses to define the term "woman."
The greatest woman I ever knew died suddenly in August is 2018. People get hyperbolic about the dead but if she was still breathing I would describe her the same way.
Although maybe some would call her a birthing person.
She birthed triplets and two other babies, with the ease of going to Trader Joe's to buy a bouquet of dahlias. Incidentally, that is the last place I saw her. Had I known it would be the last time, I would have bought all the flowers for her and also said "please don't die."
Her loss belongs to her kids who are all still under the age of 13. Her loss belongs to her family - particularly her mother - who will carry that with her as an appendage till her last breath. Her loss does not belong to me, yet I have to idea how to not feel it or how to grieve it. Or get over it.
Want to hear something nuts? I continued to text her for two months after she died. Eventually I decided not to give my family evidence of diminished capacity and save my data for the living.
Since she died, the entire world is off its axis and I wonder if she might have been the mystical character holding it all together.
I can hear her saying - "Yeah, right. And also, you're still in therapy? Just checking."
Life is a brief candle. Sometimes it seems like the brighter it burns, the quicker it is gone.
My heart is assembled with (crazy) glue, the pain emanating from your loss, Bridget, seeps into the cracks.
What an assignment we have: live life in the moment , don't fear the reaper, have a 401K, don't stop thinking about tomorrow, live while I'm alive. It's the same philosopher who said "Supersize me" and "Be a size zero."
Life is a series of contradictory rules. And they just get stranger.
Last night my husband - a long time women's pelvic surgeon - was told he can't be honored by a particularly organization because only women can recognized for this healthcare honor. The same organization refuses to define the term "woman."
The greatest woman I ever knew died suddenly in August is 2018. People get hyperbolic about the dead but if she was still breathing I would describe her the same way.
Although maybe some would call her a birthing person.
She birthed triplets and two other babies, with the ease of going to Trader Joe's to buy a bouquet of dahlias. Incidentally, that is the last place I saw her. Had I known it would be the last time, I would have bought all the flowers for her and also said "please don't die."
Her loss belongs to her kids who are all still under the age of 13. Her loss belongs to her family - particularly her mother - who will carry that with her as an appendage till her last breath. Her loss does not belong to me, yet I have to idea how to not feel it or how to grieve it. Or get over it.
Want to hear something nuts? I continued to text her for two months after she died. Eventually I decided not to give my family evidence of diminished capacity and save my data for the living.
Since she died, the entire world is off its axis and I wonder if she might have been the mystical character holding it all together.
I can hear her saying - "Yeah, right. And also, you're still in therapy? Just checking."
Sending slow hugs. 💜
We only ever have now