I’ve lost something but I don’t know what it is. I’m crying, all a mess, hands over my face and alternately grabbing for Kleenex. I saw a video about Orca whales. That started it, but I haven’t had any Orca-related trauma recently. I watched a video by a young man who researched the Bible for the context of six references to homosexuality. I cried then, too. I am asexual to a great degree, so I suppose I fit on the spectrum, but not anywhere that I catch flack for it. I’m married. No one really knew until I wrote this. I lost my seagulls last weekend, or at least, my assurance of their safety. That one hurt, as I’ve watched them hatch fledglings for years and given all of them names. But today was plain. I walked to a field trip, took the bus, taught a class, and received some books for a research project. Yet here I am, blubbering away, alone on the sofa. 

If anyone knows what it is that I’ve lost, I’m open to suggestion. I think it has something to do with safety, and something to do with love. That’s as much as I’ve got. 

I’m supposed to be researching for an upcoming presentation on the unseen costs of cheap production. Am I simply in tune with all there is to grieve in the world?  Am I afraid we are losing the Orcas like we lost my seagull nest, tossed in the garbage for convenience?  Am I sad at the long years I wasted, convinced that God held some special sort of antipathy toward gays?  And how then did he feel about me, off the purple end and having no children, either?  Why does this continue to shame me when I know in my heart it was the right thing to (not) do?

I do not know. I’ll keep the Kleenex handy, give up my books and have popcorn for dinner. Whatever I’ve lost, it’s taken my research drive with it.