Sitting Shiva

The Jews sit Shiva for a week and then go back into the world. Yesterday Kathleen went back to work and I returned to my writing. Despite a sense of unreality and a constant feeling of exhaustion, it is time to soldier on. This will, of course, not prevent bouts of weeping and the thousand-yard stare; but continuing in life is best when walking through grief.

The Jews also set one year aside for mourning, after which it was officially over. These recommendations fit the needs of the human spirit well, though no law should be made of them. "The Law was made for man, not man for the Law.".

I am especially grateful to my sister, Elisa, who has given me the luxury of having no financial worries during this time of arranging plane flights and motel reservations. I also want to thank Tom Summers, Rachel's great uncle, whom I think paid for the viewing and cremation. When I went into the office to pay, the funeral person said, "It's already been taken care of." (I aim to pay him back but will not burden myself with such concerns at this time.)

Several things have occurred after Rachel's death which, for those who know our family history, will be instantly recognizable as something to do with Rachel.

1) While nuzzling Kenyon the night after the viewing, I apparently hurt his left shoulder and he bit my nose and bruised my eye; nothing serious, though blood was spilled. I am only the second human he has bitten.

2) Though I have needed shoes for months, the first day we returned to the coast we walked into a shoe store in a daze and each bought a pair of shoes.

3) While walking through the flora near the beach, the local salt-marsh flies attacked me en masse and I have been scratching myself ever since.


I have no intention of turning this blog into a journal of grief, but when it bubbles up I won't repress it. My writer's conference begins tomorrow and I have two musical performances on Saturday.

It's cool and humid here.

I sleep but I never feel rested.

My pants are tighter.

What's this about weight loss and grief?


Kiloneutral and holding,

Craig Erick