Grief is such a strange thing. It is almost like a wild cat, needing to be domesticated so that it can live with a family, in their home, without hurting anyone.
I mean, I haven’t exactly been happy since Andrew died, but I have sometimes felt dulled into not feeling, plus activism is therapeutic for me.
Going to Washington last month, working on the Fair now, it dulls the pain. I can get so involved with exploring and implementing the many ideas that keep coming to me, that sometimes I even feel happiness and joy, at having the privilege of working on something so important and meaningful.
Then, maybe because I am making too much noise, or I get careless, and the wild cat starts to twitch. Before I know it, it’s gone berserk, it got control of me and it’s roaring, growling, biting and clawing me.

These past few…

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