Little Things

     Perhaps it's no surprise that the bereaved in the land of grief feel the presence of absence in major events.  When the beloved is not present at a birthday celebration, at Christmas, at a graduation it is expected that the loss will be poignant. Certainly I've missed Joanne at those times,
    What has surprised me is that the absence is often the most profound in little things. Today, driving to The Little House, I drove past the farm where Joanne's father, Oscar, grew up. Joanne's stories of visiting the farm came back to me, e.g., during threshing season and having a ferocious hay fever attack. Joanne and I had dinner in that house when her aunt Clara lived there with her husband Clarence. Clarence reached across the table for something and Clara said "What's wrong with please pass?" That small vignette remained with us both and we often had a chuckle about it. Now I remember alone and it makes me sad, conscious of my loss.
     When I'm about an hour west of the Cities, heading for The Little House, I veer off the highway to county roads. One long stretch I favor has just re-opened after a two year reconstruction. Who cares? Joanne would have.  Now there's construction on two other roads that run parallel meaning I can't use either. Today I found a great alternative that made me glad, but who cares? Joanne would have.
     These things seem so trivial I'd not think to bother anyone with them. They do illustrate reality of life in the land of grief. Perhaps it's because one prepares for the larger things, plus they are usually in the presence of others, that they are often less difficult. The mundane seem too little to mention, especially given the amount of backstory necessary to create a meaningful context.
     Yes, I'm missing her tonight!

Takk for alt,

Al