The temperature outdoors is in my comfort zone -- sixty to sixty-five degrees. It’s been raining since this morning so I’ve been outside only to check the mail.
I’ve cried through washing a load of clothes, cooking breakfast, baking brownies, listening to Travis Tritt’s Homegrown album, petting the cats . . . it’s been a rough day. Since the rain hasn’t decided to stop, I’ve been driving most of the afternoon, watching the wipers clear the windshield.
Memories surround me. Some good, some bad, some happy, some sad. I’ve got a tight grip on my emotions so haven’t cried for an hour or so, but feel it would take very little to break that grip. What then? Tears for the rest of the day and night and tomorrow?
A friend said it was from missing Greg, from feeling empty. I know I’m missing Greg -- that is likely a permanent condition. The feeling of emptiness -- I feel past that -- empty would be an improvement.
I feel nonexistent, as though nothing I do will bring me back into existence. Will this feeling pass? Can I defeat it? Right now, I doubt it. Tomorrow? Will there be rain bringing more memories to remind me of what I no longer have? Memories of what I can never have again? Memories . . . memories that reside in my bones.
Another road to follow in the rain. Another hundred miles on the odometer. Another two hours of tears matching the rain. Another day grief has me firmly in its clutches.
Will another million miles in the rain dilute the memories?
No comments:
Post a Comment