It had been awhile since my friend and I had gotten together for our book study. My being immersed in summer has contributed to my not reaching out. I had purposely saved my appetite so that by the time I got there I was good and hungry. We enjoyed our food and talked about our latest chapters.

Work had been a decent day, described to Laura as two hard ones and two easy ones. Two of my days I only had half days after I blocked my schedule after certain cancellations. It’s a math thing for me. My time is important and if I’m not getting paid I’m not going to be there for hours and hours.

I think a big temptation in the (lifelong) process of grief is to think the final destination is a radical acceptance of the brokenness of the world. The intolerable situation. The thing that can’t be changed. It’s a lot to get even there. But it helps me also to see that the ceasing of the fighting is better than the struggle. The peace is so magnanimous and so pronounced, to where to go back to the entryway, to go back to the starting point of all of our days truly seems an obvious fools errand.