Talking to Fred
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.
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| PHOTO by: Otto Jensen |
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