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It’s supposed to get easier, Phil thinks bitterly. It’s not supposed to feel like a part of you is torn out to realize, years down the line, that the incense she made is almost gone.
And it had been getting easier. The first holidays without Kristin were almost impossible, but the next time the wheel of the year had brought them around it was easier, and even easier after that. But something about the jar of incense on his altar only having a few sticks left feels like that first Litha over again.
Kristin had made the incense, a summery cleansing mix of herbs she’d designed specially for the solstice. Phil had laughed affectionately, when she made it, at how many sticks there were. How much cleansing do you think we’ll have to do? he’d asked, not really expecting an answer.
Now he wishes she’d made more, so that he would have to face the day that there isn’t any left some other time.
He wishes Techno were home, at least. Techno’s the first to admit he doesn’t really get Phil’s grief, all these years later, but he doesn’t question it either. He can read Phil easily and makes sure Phil doesn’t get too consumed by the black hole.
Techno’s not home, though, because it’s Litha and Phil is cleansing and warding the house and Techno doesn’t like to hang around while that’s happening. He’s completely atheistic, and tends to respect but stay away from Phil’s various rituals.
So it’s just Phil, this last solstice ritual, and the weight of grief.
Phil lights the incense and begins, letting the practiced repetition of the wards distract him.
By the time he’s done, he feels a bit better, but he doesn’t want to face the nearly-empty incense jar again yet. Instead, he goes to the kitchen and starts making bread dough. He’s been meaning to for a while, so he might as well. It’s not ignoring his feelings if it’s productive, right?
Techno gets home as Phil’s putting the dough away to rise. “Hey Phil,” he greets. “What’re you doin’?”
“Bread,” Phil says, gesturing to the covered mixing bowl.
“Smells nice in here,” Techno comments. “The bread and the incense.”
Phil nods. He’s suddenly more aware of the warm metal of his wedding ring on his hand than he was before.
Techno raises his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Phil protests. “I’m just making bread.”
“Mhm,” Techno replies disbelievingly. “So why’d mentioning the bread and incense make you sad?”
Phil sighs and leans against the counter. Downside of having a friend like Techno. “The incense,” he admits. “Kristin made it, and I noticed I’m almost out.” Techno makes a sympathetic sound. “Isn’t it supposed to get easier?” Phil continues, voice rising in frustration. “It’s the summer solstice and she’s been gone for years. Shouldn’t it be easy not to think of her?” He buries his hands in his hair.
“Maybe you’re not supposed to not think of her.” Techno’s voice is soft, a sharp contrast to Phil’s outburst.
“I need to move on,” Phil counters. “How the hell am I supposed to live if I’m still sad because I need to make more incense? If I’m still thinking of— her.” His voice breaks and he drops his hands to his sides.
“Movin’ on doesn’t mean you forget her. Think about it— would you want to forget her? All of her?”
“No.” Phil doesn’t even have to think about it. The pain of his grief is nothing to how bright he felt around her. “Never.”
Techno nods. “Yeah.” There’s a moment, then he adds, “I read up on grief, a while ago, because you know how I am at emotions.” Phil laughs, just a little. Techno is bad at emotions. “And it’s not a straight line, y’know? It’s like… there’s this whole metaphor, with a box and a button, if I remembered it I’d tell you. But it doesn’t just stop hurting one day. There’s the good and the bad all mixed up, and if you keep the good parts close you can keep living.”
Phil nods slowly, thinking about it. “That… makes sense.”
“You’re allowed to be happy and still miss her. Just… don’t shut out the good parts.”
Phil nods again, rubbing his thumb against his wedding ring. “Don’t shut out the good parts,” he echoes quietly, and he thinks that maybe, maybe, he can do that.