Today, standing at the grill (I work mornings as a breakfast cook, so about 5 a.m.) I had a flash. A memory of someone I love. I say love because even though he is deceased, he isn’t really dead, not really. Sometimes I talk with Fred.
In my head, not out loud. Though sometimes I’ve done that while out bicycling. I’ll look around and say, Fred you’d love this. But mostly I flash and think about him.
I wonder: are flashes a bit like prayers? My heart reaching out to the universe. Are you there?
I miss Fred. I miss talking with Fred. I used to have an office on 8th floor, down the hall from him. So after working on my writing I’d stop by for a chat, and our conversations covered a multitude of topics, mostly the arts. One blog post I shared years ago had to do with a movie. I tried to tell it to him and he interrupted me, WAIT! I saw that one too!. And, together we finished telling each other the story and which parts we liked the best, and how we related to the main character—a woman in a bad relationship who began to find herself by taking photographs.
So I don’t know what first sparked the memory at the grill this a.m.—was it the movie or the missing of Fred? So many things we talked about that I cannot untangle the emotions; they are all wrapped up together.
This is grief. When everything reminds you of that person. The one you love. Not loved, past tense, but love. Still.
|PHOTO by: Otto Jensen|