At 6:30 a.m., on April 12, 2018 I asked Joanne "What's special about April 12?" She shrugged her shoulders. Three hours later, surrounded by her family, she died. Now, four years later, I think about what she has missed.
What's missed is a mixture. She's missed COIVD, the attempted overthrow of our government, Russia's brutal invasion of Ukraine, the death of her favorite dog, Trygve, and much more. Grief lies closest to the surface when I recognize what she's missed in four years of growth with our granddaughters. Their deprivation of Grandma Joanne and her absence from them is painful to contemplate.
The lessons I learned from her prepared me well for living alone. Often I've remarked that the grief has morphed from 'a knife in the ribs' to 'a perpetual, dull ache' exacerbated and inflamed occasionally by anniversaries and memories. Of course I find life meaningful and of course I acutely miss her. Gratitude for the time and life we shared fills me. To be joined with her was blessing, which explains the grief of her absence.
So on this anniversary in the land of grief the presence of absence is acute.
Takk for alt,
Al
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