I think that the third day after an injury, the pain is the worst. I don't know why.
And now I am thinking that the third day after a death is when it begins to settle in. The truth of it, the finality of it, the exhaustion.
I'm just so tired now.
We got that room cleared out. Hank and May and Lily and the boys and Chuck and Russell and Glen and I all came together and sorted and finished what we'd started yesterday. Bags and bags of stuff and Glen and Russ are taking a load to donate right now and tomorrow we'll figure out what to do with the rest of it. I guess.
Kathleen came over and left the most beautiful dish of arroz con pollo I've ever seen and pecan praline bread and salad and my across-the-street neighbors who brought the ham have now left a chocolate cake and I just got a call from another neighbor who is bringing chicken salad.
I am so grateful. These kindnesses make me want to cry.
Maybe that's what I need. To cry. I don't know. It's a confusing, emotional time and I am feeling everything from vast relief to profound sadness. I continue to try and accept each and every feeling as it comes but I tell you what- it's taking a lot out of me.
Which is to be expected. It is the third day, after all. I think I feel empty. I think I feel hollow.
I guess this is why people bring food.