There aren’t really stages of grief, there’s just a big rupture and then a big mess of denial, anger, shock, guilt, etc. etc etc and none of it is orderly. Right now I’m in a state of disbelief and I’m guessing it’s adaptive, to keep mothers from flipping out.
I am seeking solace anywhere I can find it but I can’t listen to the news or look at fashion.
I’ll tell you what’s good: TV.
TV is a great panacea and pacifier. Reality TV is best. Crazy “Housewives” screaming at each other is like manna from heaven. My husband and I are taking comfort there. Scream and fight, Housewives! Never stop!
True Blood worked for me but not so much for my husband. He’s just not gay enough, I guess. When Sam and Eric eyed each other up, the thrill was electric, wasn’t it?!? Eric’s butt was too small for my taste but on the whole it was a yummy festival of hot gayness.
TV is my church and I will worship there. My bed is a place to hold Max’s stuffed animals from his babyhood. My fridge is stocked with weird leftovers from the meals brought over in sympathy. My tolerance for idiots is being severely tested. My gratitude for kindness is fine-tuned. I can report that aside from TV, you really, really need friends.
Love is all that matters. Remember how we learned that before? It’s easy to forget. I’ll try to remind you, and you can try to remind me.