I have a theory that you carry grief around inside you, like a bowl full of a cold, thick liquid. Every time something big and sad happens, the bowl cracks open and spills everywhere.
In other words, when you grieve, it’s not about what just happened, it’s about everything that has ever happened. Grieving is the process of mending the bowl – again – and gathering it all up – again – and putting it all back where it belongs. For now.
Visine is helpful.
Knitting is helpful, because it shows you that time is passing. The world is continuing to turn, even if it sometimes feels like it should stop for a little while.
Here is half a sock.
Grief is one situation where a kitty is helpful.
As opposed to “helpful” with “ironic air quotes.”
Like the way that a kitty will “help” unpack the groceries, mostly by stepping on them.
(Yes, I forgot to bring my tote bags to the store. Mea culpa.)
Or the way that a kitty will “help” with photographing a bit of knitting, by sitting on it and looking dapper.
Or whatever it is he thinks he is accomplishing when he wanders around licking the unfinished wood baseboards and window sills. (Thanks?)
I am reminded of Sara’s comment about keeping an “Emergency Backup Cat.” (More info.) I am always diligent about running a backup. And after fifteen years of “just the three of us” it feels pretty weird to be “just the two of us.”
I have a good candidate in mind for Backup Cat. But of course, the shelters are full of wonderful potential Backup Cats and even Backup Kittens, should you feel the urge.
It’s only sensible to have a backup, after all. I don’t know what I would have done without mine.