Their song is called peace

A lot of things have been suspended over the past few days. Patterns altered, routines shifted,

Their song is called peace

Their song is called peace

stuff just not at all as it usually is.

  • Staying at my fathers home, to be close to my step mom. I love my home, my kitty, my bed—but for now this seems the only place in the whole world I could possibly be.
  • The radio in my car switched off. I turned it off on the way home from the hospital and haven’t been able to bear the idea of sound other than Sweetie or silence.
  • I am sort of obsessive about daily (ok, twice a day) checking my bank account & google calendar. Not so much.
  • Work. Haven’t checked email, not even once.
  • Eating. (I don’t really need to say anything here do I?)

Everything changes, but I know that it only changes for this brief—though while its here it feels like forever—time. Its a strange place, an unusual land, this land of grief. I am trying to stay awake, aware, alert as much as I can. This only happens once. I don’t want to miss a thing.

The other night, wandering around my dad and step mom’s house, just aimlessly digging and looking and taking it all in (there is a lot to take in) I went into my fathers workshop, over to his jewelry bench and noticed a little post it note with his writing on it. Its funny, of all the things I cherish the most of my mom and grandmom’s things—its their handwriting. So I saw my dad’s handwriting on this note, and somehow knew he was still here, still speaking. This is the image that is posted here.

Each minute feels like an eternity and I know it is like every other minute of my life. Time cannot help but fly.

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2 thoughts on “Their song is called peace

  1. Love to you friend, may you be comforted in the surrounding of your very special father…..he is with you always……you all are in my heart….much love and healing be with you.

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