Rachel said to me, while we were driving down the road to the farm the other day, that grief is a physical process.  I understand now what that means.

sometimes I find myself crying without any volition from my brain.  just an upwelling and the feeling of a sticky lump of (what? muscle? bone? pain?) in my throat.  sometimes I stop in the middle of what I'm doing, exhausted in a deep way that has no end.  my brain helpfully plays me chunks of songs.  for some reason it is alternating between the impossible John Denver thing The Eagle and the Hawk and that Foster the People song about shooting everyone you know.  all that we can be / and not what we are.  he's bringing me a surprise.

somedays now I don't cry.  these days are always followed by days where I do cry.  I'd like to stop, now.  (I know, I've said that before).  that thing about God not sending you more than you can bear, I can bear this but I don't want to.  it's gone on long enough now, he can come back and consult with me on the 100 tomato seedlings I'm cultivating.  good thing I have a big greenhouse.