Everything around me is dying.
Relationships, cats, young police officers.
Everything.
If I really start thinking about it, I won't get up again.
Cells, me, Jow, my mother, my other mother, my best friend.
Some are more eminent than others. Bellatrix Peepingston, our other cat, our Siamese if you don't please is going through kidney failure as we learned today. . The young cop who had his funeral today half a block away from where I work, his wife seven months pregnant with their third, neither of them quite 30 yet. She gave his eulogy. He died on his work, some guy threw his car over a divider and they both died instant. I think about how in the Middle Ages there was protocol for the death of a young beloved prince - the chief mourner, who walked behind who, the Londoners standing outside their shops crying for a man they never even knew. I saw that today, as we stood silently outside our big old rambling house, the street lined with people, motorcycles, horses, grim faced female detectives--
The bomb squad.
When the hearse passed, I felt that overwhelming shock of grief that comes with a life snuffed out too soon. We stood together and apart, our eyes wet with tears.