DEATH MEANS STOP

Every day I am working from the inside out and back again. We have great days when we sail unfettered through the calm –  tempered with those rough ones – times I wonder how my body can exist when his no longer does. Death parts. It leaves some of us in the slow lane to experience the physical symptoms of pain and the emotional holes in our lives. Death finds no ready answers in those that believe death is the end. My husband and I had a couple of conversations over this during our time together and of course we were in different camps. He believed death meant stop.

In order to lessen the loss at the moment my phone is set so that messages received make the sound of two strikes ascending on a harp. Everytime I receive a message I hear this and imagine my husband as a cherub on a cloud playing that harp. It’s a ridiculous image so it’s perfect. Sublime and ridiculous. Two ways in which I remember him.

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