It takes a month

Some cultures have an established routine of mourning. Friends, family and neighbours take food to the bereaved household for period, until things can get back to normal.

Last week I sorted out the last Thing, that is, clump of atoms, that needed to be sorted. It has taken a month, during which my flow of Normal Work has been a minimal trickle.



Now I am the inheritor of two thousand miles on the car, a garage full of boxes, and a head of memories and thoughts I didn't know I needed to go through. It's going to take more than a month, but the proper work of the living in respect of the dead now begins.