This summer, we’re being blessed by a whole ton of experiences.

Camps, and trips, and lovely friends who let us borrow beach and mountain houses. Time at the River. Work travel and friends and family in town.

Summer is flying by.

I spend slightly less time sitting in grief when I’m busy. It’s almost like I have to schedule time to let it out. My therapist taught me a new thing about tears – and I like it so I’m not going to fact check it. (You are welcome to, just don’t tell me if it’s wrong.) She said that there are 2 kinds of tear ducts – the kind that keeps your eyes moist or that engage when you cut onions or have allergies.

Then you have the emotional kind that actually stimulate hormones to relieve stress and help you feel more calm.

This makes me feel much better about crying. A purpose! A reminder that, not only will I eventually stop crying, but that I might even feel a bit of relief afterwards! Good job, tears!

I still hate crying, I just hate it a little less.

Beyond the scheduled moments – usually in the evening after C has gone to bed and often outside – I’m also finding my grief to be a bit of a sneaky minx. It pops up at inconvenient moments like swim meets. Or on the bus home from a work trip. Public crying is a whole new kind of awful, but man, it’s pretty hard to contain sometimes.

Conor is doing OK. He’s still tender – not as much about his dad explicitly, but it’s like he’s walking around with an exposed nerve. You can just barely nudge it and it triggers a much bigger than expected reaction, or actually he shuts down. He doesn’t process big feelings outwardly – he just sort of turns out the light.

He’s still finding refuge in video games and in his hyper-fixation songs. (This week it is “What’s Left of the Flag” and “If I Ever Leave This World Alive” and “Lean On Sheena” and y’all THOSE LYRICS) I know I should be more careful to limit things like screen time and junk food, but honestly, I just want to zone out on tiktok sometimes and eat cookies, so it feels a little crappy not to afford him the same courtesy.

I bought a little urn for Preston yesterday. He wants most of his remains in the Pungo River, but I’m finding it incredibly difficult to not have his ashes close, so even if I do eventually spread them, I’ll keep some saved in this little pottery dish. I got myself a matching coffee cup. (I’m not sure the ladies at the little store in Boone found my jokes about us “enjoying morning coffee together” as entertaining as I did, but I was glad to be with my friend Vicki who totally got it.)

Preston always really liked pottery. He had a rather extensive collection of mugs and often chose them as his souvenirs when we traveled. He got a beautiful one in Ireland, and not long after we brought it home, I accidentally knocked over a beer bottle (I am often oblivious to the space around me) and it chipped the top.

Of course, he was fine with it. But I was DEVASTATED. I cried and cried and cried. (I was about 7 months pregnant with Conor, so we were experiencing a whole new Sarah on the emotional front.)

And Preston, knowing me very well, wrapped me up, walked me to the car, and took my round little self to Target, thus beginning our, “PUT IT IN THE CART” tradition of better feelings through capitalism.

We walked all around the store, and if I said, “oooh!” at any point… “Put it in the cart.”

Furry brown blanket? “Put it in the cart.”

Absolutely duplicative water bottle? “Would it make you happy? Put it in the cart.”

Snacks. “In they go.”

As it turns out, there couldn’t possibly be enough cute throw pillows to make the hurt stop, but I do find myself genuinely cheered by the thought of him walking through a store with me saying, “I mean, if it will make you smile, you should do it.”

And even though we have to do it sad, we’ll do the things and hunt the dopamine and the oxytocin with trips and visits and shopping screens and movies and sometime crying.

P.S. Here’s your reminder to RSVP to P’s “memorial service” that will not be at all a “service” but will be fun. We’ve rented out the Pour House on July 9th (P’s Bday) from 12-4, but I suspect most folks will be dropping in and out. Some friends are going to share some tunes and we might tell a story or two.

I’m absolutely pulling out my violin because I want to give everyone those nice emotional tear duct hormones. Be warned.

And honestly, I haven’t felt like doing much of anything at all.

When Preston was sick, I used up every single second. When he was asleep or on treatment, I would sew like crazy. I’d stay up too late to finish up a project and run in to show it off to P.

Monday nights, I always went to tap class. Such a joyful medium!

Sitting in bed in his last months, I almost always had a crochet project handy.

When he died, I found solace in getting my thoughts out here. Therapy as much as a hobby and way to stay connected.

I’ve always been a hobby collector. Basically, I decide I want to learn how to do something, so I just do it. Stained glass. Quilting. Embroidery. Amigarumi. Bouzouki. I’m always busy.

But now, I just don’t have the brain space for it. It’s not that I want to do a different hobby, it’s that I don’t want to do any hobby.

I tried to make a dress last week. Let’s just say it isn’t my finest work and will be just fine when I cut it all up and turn it into cotton rags.

I’m finding that in my grief, things just aren’t quite as fun as they used to be.

And what felt like lots of extra space and the release of relief immediately following Preston’s death has been replaced with big sad. It has filled up the space in my brain and in my heart and in my day. It fills in all of the gaps that aren’t taken up by work and parenting and eating and chores.

It really takes up the space at night.

My therapist sent me this image of a grief journey:

In the early days, (I guess I’m still in the “early days”, but time is a construct, and it’s all relative) I was bouncing around a lot. If you’ve been reading all along, you probably felt that.

But right now, I’m stuck in the sads and it irritates me. I am not comfortable in the sads. I find crying to be incredibly irritating. I want to feel more like myself and less like sad myself. She is annoying. She makes lots of mistakes. She whines about being lonely. She does not have patience. She orders hundreds of dollars worth of pictures to hang up in her house. She doesn’t even like romance novels.

The nerve.

I got a new tattoo on Friday. The last day Preston was in hospice, one of my favorite artists posted a “wannado” with a compass rose and some flowers. Just the week before, Preston had told me how much he loved the stained glass compass rose I once made him. (He said in particular that he was very impressed that it was so precise because – AND I QUOTE – “We all know that’s not your mother’s strong suit.”)

So anyway, the design was just right.

I paid my deposit that night, set the appointment for June 9, and P had passed 12 hours later.

I had my appointment and it didn’t start out great. I thought it was supposed to have color, but she didn’t and changing your plan on the artist last minute is like next-level bad form.

“I’d really just like a little color in the compass rose…” I said very meekly, heart racing.

Of course, she was a total professional, and was super lovely when I told her the deal. (Also, I sit like a fucking badass because WHAT IS PAIN so we finished in plenty of time) The tattoo is perfect.

All that to say, when it comes to grief, it’s not as simple as picking a direction and heading there. The compass isn’t always pointing North. It is not a constant. It’s a lot more like those super cheap ones you get at souvenir shops at the aquarium.

But you sort of have to follow it anyways. Let it take you on a journey. And when you’re stuck in the swamps of sadness, you’ve just got to hope that you’ll go the way of Atreyu instead of Artax. That you’ll keep right on heading to the Great Valley. That you’ll help Thomas J find his glasses.

OH MY GOD YOU GUYS THE 90s MESSED US UP SO BAD.

Ok, long, rambling story short.

Grief blows. I’m mostly OK. I know that someday, things will be fun again, but they’re not right now. It is what it is.

For a long time, Preston’s cancer was a lot like a chronic disease. Most days were good, and he needed some accommodations, but generally, he was able to function pretty well on a daily basis.

Well, a lot of that changed around the holidays, and we spent a lot of time investigating gadgets and trying to make him more comfortable and our home more accessible.

I suspect you or someone you love may at some point require this knowledge, and I’m not one to gatekeep. So here are a few of my favorite things…

Timers on bottles: THIS IS THE MOST GENIUS INVENTION. You might even need this now. It resets the clock to the last time you opened the bottle. Not sure if you remembered to take your pill? IT’S ON THE LID. It has timers you can set and stuff like that, but we just used it to know when he took his last pain pill. GAME CHANGER.

And cute socks with grippers: Everyone with mobility issues needs to have some good, solid slipper socks. These held up really well and were comfy without too much compression.

Neck wraps to warm up: These were great for supporting his head and neck pain. Whatever is in them also smells nice when you heat them up.

And small remote holders: Our bed had a remote, and with the tremors in his hands, it was constantly getting dropped. With these incredibly handy inventions, we could pop them on the wheely cart next to the bed and attach all of the remotes so they couldn’t be dropped or lost.

Walkers for tall folks and for small door frames: Surprisingly difficult to find a walker that went through our small bathroom door. This one folds up enough to scootch in with a  simple tug on the seat.

These are the products that sure changed the game.

Big comfy eye mask with flat Bluetooth speakers: P had a hard time sleeping, but I needed to be in there to help with meds. So, with these, he could leave the light or TV on, but I wasn’t bothered. The imbedded speakers meant I could listen to my audiobooks or podcasts to fall asleep.

Ice wraps for headaches to keep in the freezer: This thing really helped with Preston’s headaches. You need to let them sit out a minute before putting them on – otherwise it hurts a bit.

 These things to make sure that you are drinking: These were a good alternative to sugary Gatorade or sparking water. It was also easy to keep next to be bed to jazz up some water and worked well when Miralax was mixed in.

These are a few of my favorite things!

(Also this is totally not sponsored, and Amazon is problematic, but MAN was I grateful for overnight delivery and a gazillion options of accessibility and comfort tools and a generous return policy.)