Yesterday

I just washed the sheets and as I made up the bed the side of top sheet fell across the bedrail. The thought of death rushed crossed my mind, the white sheet across the bed, the body on the bed, the hospital, the goodbyes, the pity of it all.

 So often the slightest of thing will bring a totally unconnected thought, yet be so tightly entwined in my grief. This life full of simple daily actions is filled with little sparks that fuel the fire of horrors that fill my mind. I just wonder when that will stop.

That ritual drive to work fills my stomach with bile and angst every time. The sight of a young man with curly brown hair sends my heart to rushing. The smell of the hardware store never fails to cause my knees to buckle, the acrid smell hits my nostril and my stomach turns, the tears well in my eyes and I want to run away, far away. It's like it was all yesterday.

How can one escape the face of death when everything around is covered in its shroud.

The river flowing at its natural pace.
The way the door sounds when it opens and closes.
The smell of his truck.
The broken trash can.
The rosemary in the yard.
Easter decorations.
A cowboy hat.
Presents.
Birthday Cake.
Guitars.
Motorcycles.
Work.
School.
Home.
Friends.
Life.
Breath.

They all remind me he's gone.