The Gremlin of Grief
Grief is not a thing that can be held out at arm’s length, a box, detached and inert, upon which
The little redheaded girl next to me, probably about six or seven, had been watching me. I knew this because I could sense her bright …
He loved orange. Halloween orange and black, Houston Astros orange and blue, and his very own design of his auto parts store’s brand: Hazel & Alley orange with black-and-white accents.
If you look very closely you can see beyond the sorrow of Alzheimer’s to the unexpected gifts it offers.
She haunts me – that sweet face in an old photo found in stacks of memorabilia in a rusty metal box that once belonged to my great-grandmother. Inscribed on the back in flowery handwriting is, “Mabel R. Gough, Feb. 7, 1900, Henderson, Kentucky.” Through research I discovered Mabel’s parents and an older sister. Then later, a husband and a daughter. There is no known connection to my family tree. Mabel’s sister, Maud, perished at age eight when her bedclothes caught fire. Mabel’s daughter died at age 21 in a car accident in Texas, while attending college. I know there is much more to Mabel’s story than death dates and newspaper articles, and I have a burning desire to discover and share it.
There are so many stories of unplanned lives – seemingly lost – that deserve to be told.
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Grief is not a thing that can be held out at arm’s length, a box, detached and inert, upon which
The little redheaded girl next to me, probably about six or seven, had been watching me. I knew this because
And here we are together again
Creeping separately into oldness
Manufactured pleasantries
Masking everlasting coldness
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