Sunday morning, at mom’s.
working on patience, trying to understand how grief, how the unspeakable sadness of losing connection to her as she loses connection to herself, how this makes me angry
who gets angry at someone for being Ill?
waiting for the synapses to (re) connect.
working on grace and gratitude.
trying to stay present and out of my own way
another place to consider whether or not in fact there might
about
before we buried my father's ashes, his wife told us that we might want to bury something along with the wooden box. people appeared to be considering this seriously.
hmm, I thought. hmm.
on the back of one of my business cards i wrote there might be cake.
on the one hand, this is ludicrous. i don’t even know how much my father liked cake. i don’t think he had a belief in an afterlife, and yet it seemed important, just in case. to send him off with a note of something hopeful. a good maybe.
now, months later, he's still dead and I still wonder.
[avatar image: Mike Monteiro]
there might be cake by Janet Isserlis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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