The Week Begins Again

This was a lovely and a strange shabbos.
I went to Chabad at the Unversity this morning, for the bar mitzvah of one of the shaliach's sons:  a warm and welcoming crowd, a good lunch, a proud bar mitzvah, some people I have not seen for a long time.
I missed Zalman.

This afternoon was a mixture of reading and weeping---for the state of the world, for my absent beloved, for all the things I wish I had done better for him, for my mother.
This does not seem to go away.  
It just hides quietly for a while, then comes out again, just as strong as before.  Why couldn't I find a way to help my mother write her life story?  (I felt so overwhelmed.)  Why didn't I learn during Zalman's lifetime that the time had come to stop trying to "fix", and just to listen and stay present?
Now there is also an admixture of "What am I doing with my life?  The world is going to hell in a handbasket and I am up in my room crying my heart out."
Of course, part of the reason I am weeping is that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, and all I can do is donate money, sign petitions daily and pray like hell.

After shabbos, the world came crashing in on me again.
Shavu'a tov.