Some trepidation in the parking lot.
Some downtalk as I enter the room, you know the drill: "what the hell are you doing here when so many others are so much worse off?"
Some tears. Gulping them back.
Recognition of others and others of me, my gawd, we're all in the same boat of anguish and pain. We're all new to this process wondering what to do next with our lives which have this meaningless, hollow ring to them.
Understanding. Everyone here gets this. Understands the absolutely crazy insane thinking inside of the skull of the bereaved.
Down to the total lack of comprehension of the process from family members. The sheer cruel isolation of it all.
I was totally at ease in that strange, loving, kleenexed room. For two hours.
My blood sugars were normal when I took a reading a few hours later.
For the first time in months and months.
I'm a believer.
There's a point in which life stops giving you things and starts to take them away.