The Time It Takes

Julia Cooper
The Last Word: Reviving the Dying Art of Eulogy

When you are pressured to get over grief in a timely fashion, time itself begins to feel restrictive, like the tightening straps of a straitjacket that draw your arms incrementally closer, as though you might suffocate yourself in a lonely embrace. The canvas begins to chafe and your joints begin to pulse with each moment that grief’s lastingness goes unacknowledged.

Taking time — shorn of the usual pronoun (taking one’s time, taking your time) the expression seems to draw on a collective reservoir.

And so for day 2485

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