so much for the afterglow
Death is a funny thing. People think death is so final. I thought it was final--I even said so the other night to Chris--but I am realizing that death is so continual for those who live. It is this nagging neighbor that wants to be in every part of your life. At times you think you can escape it and then there it is again, madly flagging it's arms and shouting, "yoo hoo, over here." Death passed and now the hollow that is left inside harkens me to a feeling of utter lost-ness--and it isn't bad, really. It is like going through the days and watching as someone else does things for me. Me is really curled up on a sofa somewhere in the recesses of my mind--just resting--and this imposter Me is running the show for a while. And she sees things differently, not renewed, but new. She has never seen the sprinkling of snow, salted over Dad's garden; Mom's dormant rose bushes, jutting out hautily under a dusting of white; never noticed how pungent some foods smell; n...