Life's A Party

So is death.

I am my world. My spinning world of love and grief and memories. My world of my words. My world of my worlds.

At first, it’s a party. People come over.  They bring food and flowers and booze. They clean. They cook.  "Hey there, how's everything going with you?"? They ask because they truthfully want to know.  They carry books and ask you to go on walks.  They plan the memorial. They stay by your side on that day of celebration. Like a birthday party, a memorial celebrates a life. 

The memorial is the last phase of people gifting you their time. They must get back to their lives

How are you doing?  The soft voices that ask the caring questions evolve in tone, speed, and intonation. Topics. Conversations evolve into the talk of life—the lives of the living. 

Now. For whom do I cook?  Who do I cook with? How do I comfort others? How do I adjust to a new life without that person's existence? Have I started adjusting? 

I start feeling myriad emotions. I brush my teeth and think downward dog. I boil jasmine tea in my electric kettle. I call my doctor to make an appointment. I Organize some yarn. 

I'm new here. I navigate the unfamiliar terrain of amnesia. I knit together a semblance of connection, one stitch at a time.