This week, I had a date with Matt and James, we showered our team with gifts at our holiday staff meeting (matching red plaid pajamas), we went to the funeral for C’s grandma and the memorial today at the home of C’s parents, I got sick, and I finished three books. All in all, a very full week.
Books I finished:
(I recommend all of them, especially EOICF!)
I still have six books checked out from the library that I somehow have to get through by New Year’s! To be fair, two of them are cookbooks so it’s not like I’m going to read them cover to cover. I finally learned how to suspend holds at the library so I don’t end up with a million books at once.
I hope to keep reading this much, if not more, in 2019. I’m beginning to think of my 2019 goals and I feel excited. This time last year, I just felt lost.
This year is closing on a bit of a somber note. I remember this year, on January first, telling my coworker that I felt like 2018 was going to have a lot of death in it, and that definitely turned out to be true. 💔 Death is the closing of a circle, the final link in a loop that must end.
It has been very illuminating to watch how the Persian community surrounding C’s parents have shown up to support them. It has felt loving and celebratory and not at all like other people I have mourned. American culture so desperately tries to pretend death doesn’t happen that even talking about it doesn’t feel comfortable.
Even as a small child, I’ve always thought a lot about death and have been conscious about how I use/waste my time. I remember having an argument with friends as a preteen and saying things I regretted. I went home and thought, What if they die and that’s the last thing I ever said to them? The thought made me feel ashamed, and I’ve had the same thought many times since, usually after I’ve said things I’ve regretted. (Goal for 2019: Stop saying things I regret!)
Loss is inevitable and I haven’t had my world seriously shaken by it in a long time. Thinking that fills me with dread. I know it is waiting, poised to pounce like a predator I can’t see, hear, or smell.
I also know that some of the most beautiful things we learn and see in this life are a direct result of loss. I have experienced that firsthand.