Waffle House

Sept 1, 2012

My Dear Ones,

It was a cold gray dreary day and no one was at the end of it. It’s okay, I do alone well. I’m fortunate in that. Although I really felt all was well when he was at the other end of it. It’s October coming and now October 26th takes on a meaning it never had. It’s The Day. Lest we forget ~ are you kidding? October 26th, the day I learned what grief was as an adult. I knew child grief when my Nana, Pauline, died. It was a kind of rolling around on very clean carpet. My mother always cleaned even in those days of her adult grown up grief. Perhaps it was similar as I lived with Grandma since forever. There was a period of time she lived with Aunt Jeannie but mostly it was us. Similar in the foggy but unarticulated blurry edges. Fog is one perfect word ~ a tender mercy in the grief process ~ dreary fog (maybe just one adjective). The instant of finding out is the last sharp, hi-res pain. Then the edges become a less than 1 megapixel photo. That’s when people ask if you want to take something. Ironic. Just when body, spirit, physiology do you this bad-ass life favor, pharmaceuticals are there to keep you from feeling anything ~ Now that the edges are getting sharp again...hmmm, nah. I just think I’ll impose all of this on you, my dear ones, You’re a strong lot, you can take it.

Follow my twitter, “It was a cold gray dreary day and Waffle House was at the end of it.” Waffle House is where the “Troika”...Peter, Melanie and Beau would stop on those interminable, on-the-road, middle-of-the-night trips. It would be Waffle House or nothing. I opted for nothing. Peter and Beau always one smothered, covered and whatever --- I never had a waffle at Waffle House.