Today I begin This Life After Loss, one year writing about what it means to lose someone.
It's scary to begin this, and to put those words out here where you can see them.
"I'm surprised you have so much to say," is a real true thing someone said to me, after I said I was writing about loss. If you yourself have been through a loss you know that enduring the shitty things people say is one of the many ugly facets of the experience. Like for instance someone said to me "this, too, shall pass" a week after Dad died, back in 2003. What, sorry? This shall pass? Well hallelujah, Dad's coming back from the dead!
Speaking of Dad, here he is.
This was taken not long before he died. And my question is, what's with that shirt, Dad? If he were alive today he and I would have a chuckle over that. But of course we can't, because he's not around.
Then there's Bubbie, which is Yiddish for grandmother. She's the force of nature whose recent death sent me into a tailspin that eventually prompted me to leave a good-sounding job and set out into uncharted waters. Here she is.
This is a woman who knew how to carpe diem. Laughed at her own jokes until she peed her pants. Had two martinis, extra olives, and a steak if we went out to a nice dinner. Plus she was an artist. Painted six-foot-tall oil paintings right up til the end of her life, age 86.
So now I've officially begun This Life After Loss. Feels pretty good.