Another image for grief.

Grief Room

Grief is a room, invisible.

You are pushed into it.

For a while, it is the only

room in your house.

You stumble around.

No lights. No clocks.

No windows.

Empty.

When darkness is dark enough-

enough!-you cross

the threshold, return

to the visible world.

Dust on your desk,

on the fruit bowl.

Kitchen. Remember to eat.

Living room. Agree to talk.

When dust chafes

your living skin,

you'll step outside.

Sun and wind will be at play

and you'll find yourself smiling.

Really, I mean find yourself-

you've been lost all this time.

You have the whole place back now,

but that room will always be there,

and the door will always be open.

―Patricia McKernon Runkle

    My friend, Sue, sent me this poem. Another friend, quite awhile ago, suggested the image of life in the land of grief. Both images, i.e., grief as a land and grief as a room speak to me. Runkle writes

"You have the whole place back now,

but that room will always be there,

and the door will always be open."

    Living in isolation in the land of grief works quite well for me. I've "...step(ed outside.

Sun and wind will be (are) at play." Often I've wondered, "how would Joanne do in this quarantine?" Such separation is not designed for an extrovert.

   Today was the day for my second self-inflicted haircut. Living, as I do without adult supervision, there's no one to tell me if I missed a spot on the back of my head. Philosophically I'm OK with it: if I did miss something then I have a "before and after" plot. 🌝

Takk for alt,

Al