Remembering...
October second is the anniversary of the death of my husband, Carl, many years ago, but each late September, as summer turns to autumn, a miasma of depression grasps me, coloring many of the days with a grayness which saps strength and purpose. I have been here often enough to know it is temporary, but it always sneaks up on me and hits me in the solar plexus with a sucker punch of a grief I long felt was over and done. Guess the work of grief never ends...really. "Tears on my pillow, Pain in my heart..." Words from long ago, sung in a different time, for a different reason- the bemoaning wail of young love gone wrong- but for me, on this autumn day in my seventy-fourth year, the dirge-like sound echoes the grayness of the day, the brokenness of my heart, as I grieve for a lost love, a lost life, dreams shattered, a family bereft and adrift. Try as I will, I cannot lift the fog of depression drawing me into its depths where
