I am on a trip to gather up the stuff I left behind when I believed I was returning as a Snowbird. Problem is I nixed the return migration.
I flew into Boston, rented a minivan and found the roads still have memories swirling around them. The overwhelming memories that catch me up and before I know what is happening tears are streaming down my face. What I've called Ground Fog. It has been over half a year since I have driven these roads—and I find the emotions are still as raw and alive as when Rob first died.
And then I drove to New Hampshire and momentarily marveled that I didn't feel him here in the White Mountains. A place he so loved. When I went to return the minivan I drove past a restaurant we had visited years and years ago...I guess I was primed. Tears started flowing again. And the memories of other times and other drives and other roads we traveled on in New Hampshire flooded me.
Florida is a fresh slate. We were never there together. I can think of Rob—and our life together—and feel joy as well as sadness in the memories.