July, that is.
The death month.
The month that he died.
It’s over.
After today.
For another year.
We now move into August,
and my anxiety finally gets to shut down for awhile.
Notice I didn’t say shut off.
Nope.
It rarely shuts itself off.
But sometimes it needs a break.
From pain and anguish and fear and emotions.
Just a break.
So it shuts down, or it pauses.
The grief pauses,
maybe sits still for awhile,
before it starts revamping again.

But for now,
July will be over,
and it couldn’t come fast enough.
The dreaded countdown march to the death day,
plus dealing with both of my parents being positive with Covid,
and taking care of them,
and trying to make damn sure
that nobody dies.
Especially in July.
No dying allowed in July,
or in August, September, October Novem …
well, you get the idea.
Thanks for listening.