Days Like This

There’s a certain kind of clarity that can rush onto you in a moment of grief. Shared, communal grief even more so, probably.

This morning, my mind dwelt on trivialities – furor over a sports columnist being sort of harsh and sort of stupid about something sort of irrelevant. I struggled to concentrate on work as my mind skipped from meaningless thought to meaningless thought; their value created, if at all, by the vocabulary and structure with which I described them in my head.

And then my wife called, eager for additional news about a terrible event about which I had not yet heard. My heart skips a beat, my eyes and fingers eagerly navigating google and twitter, and then my mind predictably hovers to family and friends and possibilities of deeper grief to come.

Paralyzed in that moment by a fear of the unanswered, a sudden desire to work hard followed. To keep moving towards a completed task, to find solace in simple achievements.

After a few hours, adrenaline faded, achievements recorded and billed, a feeling like grief returns. An eagerness to feel connected to others through love and joy. A fear that such connections may never truly be sewn, replaced instead by a lingering regret.

I rushed home to hold my kid in my arms, putting on him a probably unfair burden of acting as my human connection for an hour or two. I felt better, but still incredibly troubled. I doubt it’ll change anytime soon.

I’ve typed this a few times today, so I guess I just needed to work my way to it; to travel through words as I did through emotions today:

Days like today don’t make me fear death, they make me fear a wasted life with things undone and joyful moments missed.

For just my second post here, this isn’t what I had expected to drop. I had a great set of notes on Brad Paisley being a dumb asshole and I was hoping to put it together as a little literary mic drop. But alas. Some other time, I guess.

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