Missing out.

What the Dead Miss
by Laura Foley

"This morning I think I see, in the light
dimpling the river's emerald green
beneath me, the faces of my dead husband,
parents and younger sister,
feel their fingers in the fresh breeze
on my cheeks, as I breathe the diesel smell
of passing trucks, reminding me
of my need to refuel. As I hold the nozzle
in place, I watch clouds scurry
and reform, like roving ghostly crowds.
I hear music in the liquid trickling,
filling my tank to the brim,
music in my steady footsteps,
tapping percussion on pavement,
the car door closing with a click.
They say that's what the dead miss most,
an ordinary day, spent like this."      from Today's Writer's Almanac

    It wasn't long after Joanne's death, April 12, 2018, that I was walking Trygve and I noticed buds on a hedge heralding spring. The thought struck me "Joanne's going to miss spring" and that made me sad. She's missed so much over these nearly two years.
     Today is her sister, Mary's, birthday, and yes, she just missed being born on February 29, because she was born on a leap year. Unfortunately Mary recently broke her hip and is recuperating. Older sister Joanne is not available to offer comfort and support even from a distance. Joanne misses news both good and bad.
    Tonight I again had the privilege of spending the evening with my granddaughters. This is where the presence of absence is very profound. Evy and Sella have grown for two years since Joanne left us. She took such unbounded delight in the girls and she left them while they were so young, it makes me very sad. She lost and they lost.  Indeed, What the Dead Miss!  
    And, so it is in the land of grief.
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Takk for alt,

Al