March 2006

Like water in the precarious moments between simmer and boil over, tears long restrained threaten to breach imaginary walls created to hold them back – hide them, lest once started they won’t stop.

Maybe if a little more time had passed, like 30 or 40 years, grief, which this time is mine because it’s his, would be borne, with love for another as a needed source of strength, with grace -rather than simply muddled through.

Too many losses in too short a time, a mother of two sons and the truest of friends, the man who made music – still mostly a boy, and blonde haired blue eyed little girl whose smile lit up my heart, dance in memories of my despair mirrored in his eyes, as he is now the one who must whisper goodbye.

Wishing I’d more to offer than well-meaning clichés “in a better place” “free from pain” “at peace” which when passing through my lips instead of his, or their’s, sound no less hollow, no more comforting, and feel like nothing more than sadness come full circle, caught in the middle of uninvited visitors, irony, and pain.

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