Tuesday, June 30, 2009

There is no hole

This is not a picture of my father.  This summer, there are no pictures of my father.Is that the terrifying part about death?  The sad part about losing someone close?

There is no hole.

The space he once occupied – simply isn’t there anymore.

Like a river, it closes around him, engulfing him, sweeping us along instantly and entirely.

We don’t walk around weeping, we walk around coping.

That’s what is frightening tonight.

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