Ants are crawling on my coffee cup. Around the bottom, climbing at angles. A bee was hovering above me for a little while, but I didn't move because it seemed to be to slow to cause harm.
I have a tank top on under a thermo-turtleneck under a rabbit-hair cardigan under a cotton trench coat. With a grey pashmina stuffed on top. I'm propped against a wall on the cement by the Thompson building, soaking up the very mild sunlight before my next class. I ate a bagel. I'm not smiling.
My eyes are dry and my happiness has been deactivated for the day. The three month mark since my Dad's passing is upon me. His absence, like the bee-- hovers so silently and so closely that I have become desensitized to its presence. To the presence of an absence.
It exists and I exist and separately, almost, we make our way along the path.
And then -KSH!- a sting.
The only things that fill this void are love and loneliness. Connectedness that aches with still recent memories; isolation that affirms the reality of this absence.
Any feeling that acknowledges that Yes, he lived , and Yes, it was me that lived connected to him.
Almost everything else ignores loss. But loneliness, even just a moment of it--and love, just a small experience of it--affirm again the friendship, the love and the loss that I know underneath all my daily experiences.