Empty

Sunday Night

Empty House

Blog Night

Empty Head

Empty Garage, Empty Mom Room, Empty Ellen Room, Empty dressers, closets, pantry where the special Mom & Ellen food used to live.

Sunday Night

Full heart

Blog Night

Full head.

Full of too many thoughts to write about how the shadow of death brings into dull ache and sharp contrast - all the deep and petty, shallow but pretty images of how humans love one another. I love(d) my mother. She’s dead

I love my honey. He’s so alive.

Mark’s the anchor as my ship sloshes and turns, a tear splashes and burns... I stall out and sputter to start-up again. 

Take down the condolence cards. Writing thank-you notes feels too hard.

Financial T’s to cross and I’s to dot... the survey from the mortuary is at the bottom of the pile. Do they really  need to know they were fine during the selection process (Mom did all the work back in 1968!)... right through the cremation... up until the time when the actual service began  on February 26 and we discovered the sound system wasn’t working? The folks in the SRO back rows couldn’t hear - until... UNTIL... UNTILLLLL... they figured out they had to plug in the microphone. Go figure.

Perhaps I should simply direct them to my blog so they can know and I don’t have to bother with the form and X-ing all the Xs, crossing all the teas and dotting all the eyes.

Word play is fun. So is my hon. 

Gotta run.

Ta Ta fun-now.