. . . . .

Memories fade and almost wink out.
Forgotten and still - the distant past.

Seem's not so distant now.
Sudden and abrupt.
Sharp - like a unexpected surge of icy water in the shower.

Already - and not yet.

Here and gone.

What does tomorrow hold, and who will be there with us?

Who will remain here - in what is now only a memory?


Who's travels have ended?


I will sing and smile when it is time, I will cry and grieve in season.



Who's laughter will I never hear again?
Who's hand will I never shake?



What have I lost? What have I held on to?







I am changed.


Grief is such an odd thing - a strange mix of love, pain, and selfishness - no not selfishness . . . but maybe, perhaps rather an acute awareness of your own selfhood.


There is one less.







I will tell of you.