Okay i have had enough of acting the diligent executor. My sister, my soul: come out come out wherever you are! This thing about you being dead can’t be true, it’s….preposterous. It’s wrong. I’ve played along, but enough is enough, i don’t want to play any more. I want to talk to you. You who cared about anything that happened to me, just because it WAS happening to me. I cant be expected to go on without that, can I? Be reasonable!
Isn’t this the silliest thing you have ever heard? Magical thinking, i reckon. But dont judge me unless/until you have plumbed the depths of bereavement.
ST UnWoked & UnVaxxed! 
Stealing a word from Nanda here: HUGS!
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Stare into the abyss until the cosmos tells you what it would have you to do.
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Found this while looking for the “canteen” poem and hope it may be an interesting distraction.
https://ricochet.com/540686/archives/the-same-canteenby-private-miles-oreilly/
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Looking at the date, I was still bedridden from physical injuries suffered while traveling both to and from the Black House Museum.
Sweet potato pie!
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I love the poem.
What also struck me was how long ago 2018 seems. The lockdowns snapped down on us like a suffocating black curtain. The sunlit, carefree world before that is as gone as the Pleistocene.
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And thanks so much to you all for putting up with these paroxysm of grief. It’s just gotta come out somewhere, at a certain point, usually at night after a few reds, and…you’re elected!
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We are here, Hypatia!
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Oh honey …
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I cant bear this awful grief. I thought it wpuld be easier, after the funeral, which was Saturday, but it is NOT.
I had the funeral home save me some of my sister’s hair, which, like our mother’s, like mine, never went gray. I showed it to everyone. I gave some to her lover. .
I SHOULD hqve cut off a lock of my own, right there at the grave, in front of evwryone, and cast it into the grave. that is old, old magic.
Tonight i begged her to come to me somehow. Nothing.
Inro the dark.
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I looked into my childhood best friend’s and his youngest sister’s side by side graves fresh out of uni. A few years later, USMC Lt Paz was murdered in Panama.
Re-purpose this grief into a force for good in the memory and name of your sister. University student grants or scholarships maybe?
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It’s a worthy idea, desr Saint. But it wont make up for never being able to hear my sister’s voice again
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That is why they call it looking into the grave and not golf.
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That really is a funny quip.
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Speaking of old magic, has anyone else seen people use divining rods?
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You mean like to find water? My father could do that. He said it was an amazing feeling, the forked stick moving in his hands, pointing downward. He was totally taken by surprise by it.
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Yes. I have seen it done with reliable results for finding underground water.
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