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Life has been chill in Cap land the last week or so. I got a ton of stuff done – work, school and home. I was so caught up the other night that I sat down and watched the last episodes of V and Glee. It was only for about 90 minutes, but I don’t even remember when I last had time to just … relax.

The last few months have felt like I was trying to eat my own head, if that makes sense. If it doesn’t, just think about it for a second. Okay, now do you see what I mean?

I’ve spent a lot of time recently thinking about how much things have changed over the last few months. The posts I’ve written about losing things, forgetting things, not sleeping – none of that is like me at all. I was talking to a friend about it and she looked at me kind of strangely and said, “Well, you’re grieving. You have to give yourself a chance to process everything, but you don’t really have the time to do that properly. I’d be more worried if things weren’t getting by you.”

Oh.

Grieving.

I miss MoC. I really fucking miss her.

She still makes me laugh. I still give her crap. But it isn’t the same anymore and it’s never going to be that way again. This whole time, I kept telling myself that she would be back to some semblance of normal – but that isn’t going to happen the way I expected it to. Her world changed in an instant – a fraction of a second. I can’t even imagine how hard that must be for her. But what I’ve overlooked – and in some ways it was deliberate – is that it wrecked my world, too.

I ignored it because it was never about me. That’s honestly the way I feel, I’m not just saying that because I think I’m supposed to feel that way. The last several months have been all about what we can do to make her world as normal and complete as possible. But we can only do so much and it can only last so long – and things will change again.

If I weren’t so lazy, I could go back through the archives and find all the posts where I talked about change and how it’s such a necessary thing. I never, ever thought I’d have to make these kinds of changes. And it’s not even so much about having someone come in every day to help MoC – it’s more about the fact of change itself. She’s different now. I’m different. Our relationship is different. It’s the meaning of those changes that keeps me awake at night.

In my melodramatic moments, I think about how one day this – or something like it – will probably happen to me. And I won’t have a family to help me. If I’m very, very lucky, I will die in my sleep and the cats will have to eat my face until someone finds me.

Because in this whole thing, there is one absolute certainty. When it happens to me, Leslie won’t wipe my ass.

I already asked.

 

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