Lately I’ve been thinking that I wish I could just jump ahead about five years. Skip past all this heartache and pain. Look back one day and wonder how I possibly survived. I’m still thinking about time. Hours, days, weeks, months, years… A time machine to go back, would it make a difference? How has it been six weeks?
I know liver pâté isn’t the most appealing thing to most people. Actually, I think I grossed out a lot of people when I posted it to my Instagram stories. I want to say that I had tried pâté before I made it, maybe in Germany, but honestly I’m not sure. I had just sat down to start writing up my post of Jacques Pépin’s Chicken Liver Pâté when I got the call from the U.S. Embassy in Israel about Kris.
I’ve always thought of time as circular instead of linear. More like a spiral or a metal spring that continually circles around and stretches on forever. We repeat the same hours everyday, the same days every week, the same weeks every month, the same months every year and on and on. We cycle through the seasons. The moon revolves around the earth and the earth around the sun. Everything we use to track time is circular.
But time is linear. And now all I can think about is a never-ending path in front of me. While behind me, all I see is a huge black mark, like a scar on the day Kris died.
My sense of time has been off since that day. It’s like I wake up at 6am and then it’s 10am and then it’s 3pm and then it’s 7pm and then it’s bedtime. At first I was staying up as late as I could so that I’d just pass out from exhaustion (and wine). And then I started falling asleep watching tv and would just crawl straight from the couch to bed.