New Leaves

gamut

there is a void.
i do not know where it goes
i pin one section of something down to keep it all from slipping.
love is different each time
grief is different each time
i retreat back and hold that place
so the dark flood does not take
the good, the pure, the innocent.
no tears.
why are there no tears

*******************************
My grandmother died yesterday morning in a most gruesome manner.
She killed herself. Old country girls don't use pills.

All stages of grief are present. Though I find that I can not cry, and that
I try to keep the shadow of this from clouding my memory of her. I find
so much of my identity and positive childhood memories tied up in her, her
home. It was paradise. It was what I aspired (and still aspire) to have.

It must be denial.
I thought dad was calling to talk about Christmas.

I've run the gamut of experiences this year. Or maybe, I'm just the most aware I've ever been.