How many Jewish mothers does it take to change a light bulb? It doesn’t take any. And don’t worry about me – I’ll be fine alone here in the dark.

Alone here in the dark is exactly how I feel, still trying to navigate this crushing grief. Thank you my darling loved ones who keep reaching out to let me know that I am not alone. I appreciate that – but I am alone, and it’s okay. You can’t be here, inside my grief with me. You can be next to my body. You can be here in my town, my home, my space, on my phone…but not here. So forgive me for being away so long, I have to do this alone. And I don’t know how. It must be possible, though. Generations have done it before us for millennia. All of nature does it; don’t tell me that is different. I won’t believe you.

My cat died. I loved him with all my heart. He was my constant and revered companion. I didn’t lose my child, but I did. I didn’t lose my Mother, but I did. I lost my Father and my brother and my Grandmothers and my Grandfathers and my Aunt and my Uncle and my Great Aunt. I lost my friend. I lost every one I’ve ever lost in the 71 years I’ve been alive. I’ve lost them all over again in the past three months. I don’t know why this is true now, but for some reason it is.

I have a grief counselor who explains this to me. Why I have delayed the full experience of grief in younger years because I had to function as a mother and a daughter and a wife and a coworker and how I have previously had other pets and people who depended on me…whatever. I’m not big on explanations right now. Don’t much care to understand this.

This is precisely why this is so overwhelming. And it is also precisely why this feels like such a profound privilege. I dare not take this time lightly or hurry myself out of this pain. Something about this feels very important. Like I will not ever have this perfect set of circumstances again. I will not ever have this opportunity for this healing again.

My heart is broken, and I do not want it repaired. If I cannot have my beloved back, I don’t want anything back. I don’t want life to look the same or feel the same or live the same ever again. It will have to be new to mean anything at all.

I find myself helplessly madly in love with every little thing. Dear sweet little bugs that take refuge in my house from the bitter cold. The deer stand around looking in the windows at me. No doubt wondering if there are any more carrots. They delight me. The wind…oh, how I love the wind right now. You. I have never fully appreciated you. How glorious you are. How beautiful.

I will never be the same again. I’m not a caterpillar anymore, not yet a winged creature. I’m in the chrysalis, melting into soup that I might be re-formed. Life is waiting for me, patiently. Let it wait.

“to live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go” – Mary Oliver