MountainMornings

The part of grief that must be a selective adaptation is feeling oneself to be entirely alone in it – wrapped in a cocoon of silence. I remember when a friend’s young husband died in the shower. We were in our 30’s then, back in the Berkshires, with young children. When he woke up sweating on July 4th, no one could blame them for thinking he was just hot. He had a massive MI, and during shiva I delivered one of many meals from the community. When I had a few minutes alone with her, I told her that I was 7 months old when my father died, and that I had very few pictures of him. I said in a few days we could gather them up (this was way before Facebook and email made picture sharing simple) and make a scrapbook for the children.

She looked at me so tenderly. At first I thought I had said the wrong thing. It wouldn’t be the first time. Then she thanked me for helping her to think of someone else for a change – it was her first step out of the cocoon. Now losing a dog is in no way comparable to losing a husband, but grief must work its tentacles into our brains in a similar way. And yesterday I had a hair appointment that was booked 2 months ago. I talked with Christopher about his Tough Mudder fun, looked at his photos sporting a tall red Mohawk, and he played my son’s album, “Dogs,” full blast on his iPod dock; we rocked out the entire salon.

And Bob wants to go to a film tonight. It’s the VA Film Festival. http://www.virginiafilmfestival.org/films-and-events/schedule/

I was thinking, I just may have to accompany him. Movies are always a great escape from reality – but should I see the documentary about the demise of the newspaper industry, “Page One; Inside the New York Times?”  Or, “Rothstein’s First Assignment” about how our government forcibly resettled people from the Shenandoah Mountains to build a National Park in the 1930’s….hmmmmm I’d prefer a romantic comedy, so I’ll have to keep looking!