It’s so curious: one can resist tears and behave very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer.. and everything collapses. ~Colette
Grief renders me a stranger in a strange land. Who expects these moments ten months after loss? I now want to hear from all of my family and friends where they were when Tom called them to tell them about Tiger’s death. About me in surgery. But I rarely ask. Seems selfish to pull others back into my sorrow. Somehow, any information that has to do with Tiger makes this all the more believable. I got it- all this time I accepted the inevitability of life and death. But now I’m floating again and I need stories to ground me. Maybe the Spring reminds me of all that pain, the surgery, the hopefulness. And moving from our home where all three of my children were conceived. It’s a relief yet somehow cutting a cord.