It’s almost Christmas Eve.
Pam sent me a honey-do list that magically popped up in the reminder file on my
cell phone, deviously clever, that woman. I’m glad, grateful suddenly to have a
list of jobs to occupy my mind.
Last night Pam and I took
dinner over to my niece Christina who is home with a week-old baby girl. I was
very excited to get to see little Evelyn. But right before we left Pam asked me
to take the cooler out and put it in the back of the car. It was only then when
it all hit me. As I unhatched the door to the back of the Pacifica, a flood of
memories poured down upon me in an instant. For nearly two years, every Tuesday
and Thursday night, I loaded up a full cooler of food in the back of this same
car in preparation for our trips to bring dinner to Dad. I hadn’t done it since
March, but the memory is still fresh and warm. Now I was bringing another meal
and on this one I will pull in the same old driveway. But this time, someone
else lives in Dad’s house. I’ll drive around back to Paul and Christina’s new
place near the woods. I will glance in the windows of the old place while I
drive by. I won’t be able to help myself.
It was great seeing the
baby. I held her for the first time. She is beautiful. But I haven’t been able
to shake off the grief that found me in my garage loading that cooler. It’s the
strangest thing. I can go days, weeks even without thinking about it, but the
smallest most inconsequential thing can unleash a torrent of sadness over me.
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