On this day one month ago I got a phone call from my dad. A little while later I wrote these words:
My mom passed away this morning. B and I arrived in P-Town around ten o'clock after a red-eye flight from San Francisco and my dad called to tell me the news while I was brushing my teeth in Peter and Paul's guest bathroom a short time later and although he was crying I didn't believe him and so I kept asking if he was sure but then I heard Bryan and Kelly crying in the background and after we hung up I decided to go to sleep for a while. I turned my phone off before my nap and kept it that way for most of the day and I'm just now catching up on messages and I think I'll probably write more words about this subject at some point down the road, but for now I'm going to not.
It's been a long fucking month and I've been irritable and mercurial and tired and on more than one occasion I've found myself wondering how anybody who's ever lost somebody makes it in the world without them. I've learned that nothing stops, not appointments or emails or weather, and it seems impossible to me, even now, that more months will pass and that that will be a good thing.