This is Your Brain. This is your Brain on Death. Any Questions?

Jul 01, 2025

Dad is dead. Day 8.

Dad is dead, and apparently I can't even make coffee properly. See the beans? See the basket? Notice how the whole beans are cradled ever so caringly by the basket, but remain intact--not ground?

Yeahhh…

You can't make coffee like that.

Aside from “losing time” (what day is it?) I've also “lost” some cognitive function as well. Botching my coffee preparation is bizarre, but not quite as charming as putting the 5 year-old's art project into the refrigerator. Even less charming was leaving my sweet if slightly neurotic mini Aussie outside all night.

In my defense: she hides. She likes to slip behind my porch chair and she's so damn quiet, I really never know where she is. I could've sworn she was under the bed that night, but noooo! When I went to open the door to let her out, I noticed a shadow dancing in front of the glass panes that frame the front door.

Aaaand there she was! Clearly out all night, feet muddied, very antsy understandably.

For fuck’s sake. That is for the sake of this “fuck!” specifically. I can't even with ALL the fucks right now. I'm rapidly running fuckless.

She, Freckles, seems to have recovered.

The kids will recover, too… from my snappishness, exhaustion, and inability to do anything but basics. They're fed, clean, hugged regularly, and we even get dressed most days. But lots of “repairs” have been made to micro “ruptures”.

That's the formula: “rupture, repair.” That's how we build intimacy and safe bonds. Never fucking up is not attainable. Fucking up and making amends is the goal.

I “snap”, I reel it in, apologize, and hold them. They swat at each other or steal toys: short time outs, apologies, and cuddles.

This was not a process I was taught as a child. It's something I've learned over the years. It's not the hurt that causes “trauma”. It's the lack of context--the lack of “repair”.