Someone is watching Joan Rivers in the background, which is conflicting wildly with my internal landscape. I'm just home from spending a few days with my mother and sister after we learned of the passing of a close family friend. A friend who became family. My mother's closest friend for as long as I can remember.
We knew she was ill, but it was still sudden.
So I'm swirling in that strange space of shock, trying to locate the ground under my feet. Where am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to feel? This woman played a huge role in my life when I was younger, but really much more of a role for my mother all these years. I loved her for loving my mother, and I'm not at all sure what that kind of grief looks like. I'm not there yet. Or I am and I don't know it. This is all probably totally normal.
I'm reading a Michael Crichton novel that I picked up at my parents' house. Not my usual fare, but it's good dramatic entertainment to keep me distracted.
The word is:
Hug your loved ones word-nerdlings. Life is precious.