My husband and I made a frustrating trip to the cabin Friday afternoon, waited around all Saturday for a stove to be delivered, and for the second time the attempt failed. A week ago they brought up the new stove but it was all dented in, so they took away our old one and this time the delivery guy just didn't try. He saw a barricade and didn't even call us. So we drove back home last night, mission not accomplished. I'd be upset any time, but yesterday I noticed I felt fractured, splintered, and realized I am too raw for these kinds of normal aggravations. I seem fine, but can't handle ordinary life very well.
It doesn't help that while I'm grieving for my daughter, my Zen teacher is on hospice and dying, and because of Covid 19 none of us can see her. It is her daughter who is caring for her, and I know all too well what she is going through. So maybe the stove is the absence, the deep and abiding absence I am now facing. I'm not doing too well with it.
I'm so sorry.
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