I haven’t quite found the words over the last week. I’ve been trying to find my voice, figure out what it is that I’m supposed to share with you all. There is so much personal stuff going on – ups and downs, changes, deaths, and hospitalizations. It’s like a hurricane category four made its way through my life in the past couple of weeks and the grief is the destruction in the aftermath. I’ve been working diligently to keep myself distracted and insofar, I’ve been successful.

Last week, I canceled a planned trip to the desert to visit the mirage house due to the tragic accidental death of my fur baby. This week, I’m in limbo between the grief and the highs. You know those high highs and those low lows. I’m treading very carefully somewhere right down the middle, hoping to err on the side of the highs but preparing to fall to the lows.

NAVIGATING GRIEF IN JAPAN

I’ll be in Japan in a little over four weeks and I’ve even contemplated canceling the trip altogether. I’m leaning toward still going but the anxiety it instills in me when I think about being gone for over a week is lip-biting worthy. That’s what I do when I have anxiety – I bite the shit out of my lip.

The thought of leaving Bambino alone for that long makes me feel like a terrible parent and I’ve been feeling plenty of that in the last week. Yes, I’ll have someone come in every now and then and check on him. He doesn’t like anyone but me, though, so essentially, I’m leaving him solo for eleven days. He’s still struggling with the fact that George isn’t around head-butting him for the last morsel of food or attacking his tail when he clearly doesn’t feel like playing.

I keep telling myself I’m familiar with this – the grief and the loss and all that comes with it. But the thing about grief is that it’s actually different every time. There’s no specific pattern or routine one can expect when faced with yet another loss. You just ride the wave and see where it takes you next.

THE SHOCK IN NAVIGATING GRIEF

I’ve gotten to the point where the shock doesn’t last as long. Some would call this being jaded. I call it learning from experience. It doesn’t make it any less sad, though.

It would be hypocritical of me to not include this stuff. After all, this is The Road Linds Travels. The road may be brand-spanking shiny, and newly paved, but there are still bumps. There are potholes. There are also roadside attractions and rest stops. I’m somewhere between the last flat tire and a rest stop fitting a spare, navigating grief with great care. I hope you’ll bear with me.