Outed

It’s been a tough day, rescued by my collaborator Thea who sorted out a hole in my data collection. It had all been so perfect, what happened?
It fell apart in mid September as Luke’s death day loomed, she patiently explains. Oh, yes.
Despite all the times I point this phenomenon out to other grieving Mothers, I never see it in myself.

So, tonight I soothe myself binge watching a TV show.

No spoilers, but it ends in sudden tragedy. Unexpected, but here it is.

“You just have to carry on living as if they were still here” the father advises.
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past 10 years?” he adds.
My senses ligt up

That fatherly advice sounds so dysfunctional
and yet my body notes equally that it is brilliant.
And YES! it’s clearly what I do… I carry on living as if Luke was still here.

Busted!
Outed by Netflix, I sob. … those tears that had been so elusive gush forth.

I feel exposed and foolish.
But it’s clearly a thing. How else would the writer have scripted it?
And it, for the most part, does the trick.

So what happens around the anniversary of Luke’s death?
Is my loss of function a lapse in that resolve?
Does the tyranny of the calendar interrupt my magicial survival trick?

Will it always be so?