It is going to be a very hard winter and we all know it in our bones
Decembers are not my favourite month.
So, instead of the alternatives: I drink tea and eat cakes with a dear friend, for hours. Read books. Re-read books (or listen to their adaptations, starting Dec 21). Book a long, long, long overdue flight. Book tickets for a play.
Not thinking about those who are not here is not the alternative. I am always thinking about them. I am always wondering what books they’d be reading, what shows they’d be seeing. I am always wondering about what we’d be talking about over endless cups of tea. I am always wishing they were only a flight away. I am always wishing there had been more, more of everything.
Grieving is not the alternative, because one never stops grieving, not really, though the shape changes.
Available alternatives include forgetting, denying, pretending. Instead I drink more tea.
Attribution
It is going to be a very hard winter and we all know it in our bones an almost atavistic memory with instruction—wear heavy clothes horde food, drink water, stand against the wind listen. — from Autumn, New York, 1999 by Patricia Jones