_{Loss Without Disappearance}

_{January 2026} 

_{Over the past few days, my system moved through loss without collapse.}

_{Leia’s passing registered in my body immediately and without ambiguity. Before my mind had language for it, something in my body knew that a line had been crossed — something irrevocable had occurred.}

_{Grief arrived as heaviness and quiet shock. A kind of haze settled in after the moment itself had passed. There was no impulse to solve it or make sense of it. Only tiredness and a deep stillness.}

_{I lit a candle. I burned smoke.}

_{Later I realized the Palo Santo was not welcomed by my body. Congestion rose quickly. Agitation followed. My sleep became unsettled. The signal was clear — my body was saying no. I listened and stopped.}

_{The grief did not remain abstract.}

_{It settled into my tissues.}

_{The next morning, sitting outside in the stillness, I could feel the absence more clearly. Loneliness appeared — not dramatic, not overwhelming, but precise and honest. Alongside it, I noticed older sensations of insecurity moving through my body. Feelings I have not touched in quite some time.}

_{Instead of trying to transcend them, I stayed.}

_{Instead of acting them out, I named what was happening.}

_{I could feel two movements inside me at once. One part of my system wanted to stabilize through productivity — movement, tasks, forward motion. Another part resisted that impulse with equal strength. My body was uncomfortable in its current softness, in the way grief had slowed everything down. Yet it was equally clear that pushing through would be a violation.}

_{I did not override that signal.}

_{Instead, I chose contact.}

_{Brody and I went for a slow sniff-walk. No destination. No pressure to arrive anywhere. Just shared rhythm and the quiet companionship of moving together.}

_{Afterward I ate.}

_{Then I raked the backyard. I watered the ground.}

_{Simple, repetitive care. Hands in motion. Attention resting on the small acts of stewardship that keep life moving forward. These movements brought my nervous system back into continuity.}

_{I could feel myself returning.}

_{Later, something unexpected happened.}

_{A scent appeared that reminded me of my brothers — a familiar kinship smell I had not noticed in a long time. It was gentle and surprising. Tender in a way that did not ask to be explained. I didn’t analyze it. I simply acknowledged it.}

_{My system was reaching toward belonging after loss.}

_{Throughout this time, I remained aware of the practical structures of life. Job applications. Taxes. Timelines. Responsibilities that continue even when grief is present.}

_{But I refused to turn those realities into threats.}

_{I acknowledged what needed to be done while also refusing to abandon myself in order to do it. The only administrative task my body approved during this time was writing this entry. Everything else received a clear no — including television, distraction, and unnecessary input.}

_{What stands out most clearly from these days is something simple.}

_{I listened.
I paced.
I stayed.}

_{There was no collapse. No dissociation. No overperformance.}

_{There was grief. There was honesty. There was responsiveness.}

_{My body did not need to be overridden in order to move through this loss.}

_{It only needed to be accompanied.}

_{This moment stands as evidence that loss does not require disappearance — and that presence, when honored, is enough.}

_—NC—