Grief

Lynn's father passed away at about 3 am Eastern time last night after a seven year struggle with bone cancer.

Every day that I get to feeling better about myself, one more person leaves my life.

Tracy came home yesterday, via UPS.

"Tracy!", I'd hear them cry as if I'd committed a heinious offense such as blowing in their face, "I'm not going to clean your bum!"

"Oh, my poor baby!" I cried, as if she could still feel it. "I'm so sorry!"

Thank you to everyone who responded so quickly to my news of Tracy's death last night. And thank you to those who will offer their comfort.

She died as I said, in my lap, crying only once, near the end.

Four months after his dog died, my father suffered his fatal heart attack.

I see the spectre and yet I also see the man.

"Hmmm," I thought as I balanced it in my hand. "You haven't lost much weight after all they did to you."

I do not believe that I live in a universe run by Descartes' demon. Nor do I feel that God is punishing me.

Had Ambrose died at a more advanced age or if I had seen this sickness coming some months ago, I would not be as devastated.

I think that will put in an appearance at the family Christmas gathering tomorrow, if not for my own cheer, then for the cheer of others.

I'd weep: "I don't deserve this!" And he'd say "Daddies, its nots abouts deservingses. It's abouts lovingses."

My poor boy. My poor little boy.