Published February 5, 2009 | 
Grief, at this stage, comes in gusts, brief downpours that drench and chill. Not the ice age of the first year, when we lay gasping, immobile, eyes frozen open, like goldfish in a winter pond. Not the unsheltered wretchedness of the years that followed, crawling through ice storms toward an empty house. Just the daily leaden skies that mask the sun, and the rain sometimes.
oh, yes.
It does.
*wraps you up in a warm soft blanket, hands you a cup of tea*
oh, indeed.
(((hugs you very tight)))
((hugs))
I have no umbrella, but you can share the flap of my jacket anytime.
I’ll keep you in my thoughts today.
been there, live there. sorry to hear you do too.
sometime, if you wish, there’s a prayer technique I would like to share with you. it is of some use, and might be for you. it works over time in sneaky ways.
*hugs* The sun will break through the clouds..it just takes some strong wind.
One of my teachers told us just yesterday about the ways in which the dead are still with us. They are, you know.
*hugs*
Indeed, that. Sigh.
I’m thinking of you, darling.