Going out, the day after
December 14, 2020 § 2 Comments
It was a cold, gray day in January, 2019. My car’s mirrors were all frosty white with ice crystal formations. I turned on the defrost and waited impatiently for the windshield glass to clear. Looking around, I saw the layer of dust on the console and wonder why I hadn’t noticed it before.
Soon I’m on my way to the market. There are many parking spaces and I’m surprised that I am already there, unaware of passing time. I had not turned on my favorite podcast and realized that I could not listen to anyone else’s voice. My thoughts about how sick Steve was played over and over again. I could not shake feeling painfully sad and helpless. There was nothing I could do, remembering that my presence was a comfort, as he moaned softly before dying. I had not anticipated that this is how his journey could end.
I have no words to stop this endless loop of inner dialogue. I park the car and push myself to get out, thinking about how empty my refrigerator is, just the same as my broken heart. I grab hold of a shopping cart and find relief in a familiar action, appreciating the young man holding open the supermarket door.
Ruth,
You are an amazing writer! Always good to see your art and read your wise words of wisdom on journeying with grief and gratitude. 💝
Thank you Helen for your kind comments.