Just last week I was telling someone that this month (today actually) marks 3 years since you died.
And then, just like, implausibly, some people take a long time to remember their age, I realized that I was off by a whole year.
It is two years. But you have to hush your grief in this world after 6 months. Or 6 weeks. No one wants to hear. You are supposed to move on.
One Wednesday, maybe 6 years ago, we had a famous author to one of our ‘famous’ JORO dinners. You remember these Wednesday night dinners where anyone of us could invite anyone who had become interesting in our lives, a friend, the postman, a teacher, a boyfriend, a new pal, an old pal. It was my way of having my life and family bigger not smaller than it once was. This is happy.
Too many times a day we can feel ashamed to be a part of the human race. When we hear the news, when we see people practically run each other off the road, when we see anyone alone and marginalized and vulnerable and when we are not impressed with our own behaviour.