Two weeks ago, I had a new adventure. I fell through a rotten board on my deck. Thankfully, I didn’t have any broken bones, but I have a very swollen knee that, even now, still has a ring of fluid surrounding it.

What does this mean?

Sitting on my couch and doing a whole lot of nothing.

Or, rather, crocheting a scarf.

Coloring roosters in my coloring book.

Building a detective agency book nook.

Writing.

Grading.

Reading.

Editing.

Watching The Office.

Assembling Thomas Kinkade Disney princess puzzles.

Brushing my dogs.

Snuggling with my dogs.

Watching Barbie in the Twelve Dancing Princesses.

Best of all, today is a rainy Saturday. Even now, I am watching the misty rain sprinting to the earth and I relish the absolute quiet in the house.

It’s been seven weeks, and I still miss Peter. But, today, nay….even for the last couple of days, Grief and I have been living together and apart. I miss him. There’s such an emptiness within me. But the shredded pain. The constant intangible grief. She’s resting for now. I know she will come back. She might be back in the next couple of minutes for all I know.

But, for now, I am reclining on my couch, my knee perched on top of a couple of cushions, with Andy in The Office strategizing how to finish anger management school in half the time.

I took off Thursday because I needed to catch up on grading and writing letters of recommendation. I took off Friday because I finally felt the peace I had been chasing since my brother was admitted into hospice and I could finally breathe. In two days, I finally experienced the summer vacation I have been missing for years (yes, years…don’t ask). I assembled the bits and pieces of my life into a quiet line and breathed through the moments and just lived.

Which feels weird to write given Peter’s gone.

But it’s true. I have been living in this half stasis. Getting through days and moments in a half-life or fully aware of a duality. I am fine. I am not fine. I had a brother. I am an only child. I am alone. I am not alone.

I have loved rainy weekends, especially rainy Sundays since I was dating my beloved. I know that I wrote about it at least once (likely many times) in the past. In the end, rainy weekend days are intended to be about stopping the stress and the anxiety and living in the quiet that exists within and around me. Rainy weekend days are intended to be spent watching silly movies and television shows that are not to create strong emotions unless it’s about love and happiness and silliness. Rainy weekend days are intended to spent in pajamas and the ones I love.

The dogs are in the room with me. My beloved is downstairs. And the rain just falls to the earth, pelting the streets, making the cars’ tires make that wonderful slushy sound as they drive down the street. The world is dappled in raindrops and highlighted by a monochrome dove gray sky.

Right now, the world is peaceful and wonderful. And I am thankful for right now.