Grief as Time Rolls On.

Time rolls on. Life seems to change. It seems to stay the same. It is confusing. Where am I? How did I get here?

I lie in bed at night and hear a creak in the house and think, ah Rob's getting ready to come to bed. The wind blows, there is another settling of the house, and I remember.

Went to a book reading. Book was anthology of poems written by widows. How appropriate. The room was filled to overflowing. Widows of all ages. Heavily weighted toward my age group. The grief was palpable. The words flowed over me. Resonating. Tearing at my heart. A woman two seats over sobbed. I gave her my packet of Kleenex.

Went to Open Studios in neighboring town. Pottery, painting, prints, photography, fiber. I reconnected with a part of my past. Identified myself as a print maker. Struck up a conversation with a potter. Conversation wide ranging. She asked me where I grew up. She grew up in a neighboring town. Mentioned two favorite places from her childhood. And one was Jan's.

I am standing in a room filled with art. A room filled with people. I have no connection to anyone. And I find myself talking to one person who remembers Jan's. It was an ice cream pallor. It was where Robert and I had our first date.

Time rolls on. Life seems to change. It seems to stay the same. Where am I? How did I get here?