L and I bundled up and braved the cold, -4, 17mph wind, wind chill -26, and walked out to the cemetery to visit Joanne's grave. The 1.6 mile round trip is one that Trygve and I often made. It seemed that every step brought back a memory of him; "this is where he'd..." "from here he'd run ahead to the cemetery" "after running ahead into the cemetery this is where he'd come back to see if I was coming." Such is life in the aftermath of Trygve's death. The Little House, too, is full of memories of him. Shifting the memory bank to hunting expeditions this fall and other events in his life is a mixed experience. On the one hand there is gratitude for all the good times and, on the other, clear realization of what's been lost.
Takk for alt,
Al
1 comment:
❤️🙏
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