Getting Unstuck
When you lose someone you care about, it’s hard.
Tomorrow is the memorial for our friend Stewman. He wanted Squirrel Queen and I to speak at his service.
I don’t know what I’ll say. I plan on working on that later today.
This summer has been a violent mistress. I am comforted by knowing this too shall pass but I’m in critical burn out right now. My leg is still sore from the spider bite but it’s better. It could have been so much worse so I’m grateful for that.
With Stew’s passing, I’m, of course, thinking of life and mortality and how everything has a root system. I feel like the world is connected. I’m also thinking because of intense stress that has accompanied these hot months that I may need a break from the world and sleep for a few days. Death reminds you that there is little time on this planet. We must make the most of it. We just have to.
I’m also thinking about being in a pattern that isn’t pleasing me right now. And how that if people are stuck, how do they get unstuck.
I’m working on that.
Stew was always supportive. He was amazing and he never backed down, even if he was afraid. He walked through the fear even when he was terrified.
I hope that I can as well.
You and SQ will both do bangup job memorializing your pal. The folks will leave the gathering uplifted, reflecting on their own thoughts and memories of the Stewman as well as their own lives. No doubt you will both do great. The Stewman knew what he was doing axting you two to talk and you will do him proud.
XO
I think we’re all scared, the ones we admire are those who forge ahead rather than giving in.
You and SQ are in my thoughts, Grief is unpredictable in its whims and I wish you both strength and peace.
Sorry to hear about this.
Sorry you’re going through this. He sounds like he was a real good guy. Things will get better…
And concerning another post of yours, Coors Lights may be an abomination, but it’s a damn tasty one. (And cheap.)
I’m so sorry to hear about your friend. I hope you find the words to share with everyone there what he meant to you.
I think you’ve already started your eulogy here and previously, and a fine start it is. If I were in your shoes, though, I’m not sure I could get through reading the poem aloud.
Something I heard on NPR once about Inuit funerary customs. Day one they expressed their grief and loss, day two their heroic memories, day three their funny memories. It doesn’t really divide so neatly for me, so mixing them all up together is how I approach grief, though it does take much more than three days, of course.
We are all behind you.