The new place in the country is beautiful. But haunted. Memories of those departed abound, in each photo and in every room. At times they cast a spell—that all is as it was. To walk into the winds outside is to return to the present.
under countless stars:
The exit to the VA hospital besets, too. At each pass, a recollection of final days. Of suffering. Then we are called there to grieve again.
bugle sounds a song
We move on reluctantly, feet encumbered by the heaviness of past and unknown of future. But onward, ever onward. Sometimes alone, lonely. The memories that bind us too painful to connect. Solitude allows us to attend to ourselves, to detach from doubt, though never fully unfettered.
only in shadows:
But the timeworn cliché rings true, and wounds heal slowly. There is again a coming together, bonds somehow strengthened by loss. That which was good is perceived anew.
old grandfather clock:
The spring brings new life to the house. Trees are planted, yardwork done. The spell begins to wane. No more wincing. We smile at pictures and share stories of life and living. After a day back home, it’s almost like old times as we prepare for bed.
save for memories of