Another Thanksgiving come amd gone. How I missed you that day. My first blog ever
( http://otherdissed.blogspot.com/2010/11/thanksgiving-day.html ) was our baked potato Thanksgiving, and somehow that one day of you and me and simple but tasty food set a standard for the event.
Giving thanks.
Being grateful.
Being fully aware.
Oh, god, how I miss you on days like that.
Oddly enough, I kept thinking I smelled you. There was nothing here that I could track that held your scent. The things that were you are packed in boxes in my bedroom closet, and yet I could smell you and feel you as I sat here at my computer. It was like the days when i would compute and you would sit in your recliner behind me.
I don't have your recliner, but I have sensed you 'claiming' the one I got in its place. And, yes, it sits right there behind me when I am at the computer. If I turn quickly enough, will I see you there? (That would be weird.)
Writing this, I am again getting whiffs of the scent that is you.
And defies logic that it should exist in this place, where you never were.
It reminds me to be thankful that you are free and no longer frail.
Not bound by illness and anger and regrets.
Thankful that love remains, and can still, somehow, be shared.
( http://otherdissed.blogspot.com/2010/11/thanksgiving-day.html ) was our baked potato Thanksgiving, and somehow that one day of you and me and simple but tasty food set a standard for the event.
Giving thanks.
Being grateful.
Being fully aware.
Oh, god, how I miss you on days like that.
Oddly enough, I kept thinking I smelled you. There was nothing here that I could track that held your scent. The things that were you are packed in boxes in my bedroom closet, and yet I could smell you and feel you as I sat here at my computer. It was like the days when i would compute and you would sit in your recliner behind me.
I don't have your recliner, but I have sensed you 'claiming' the one I got in its place. And, yes, it sits right there behind me when I am at the computer. If I turn quickly enough, will I see you there? (That would be weird.)
Writing this, I am again getting whiffs of the scent that is you.
And defies logic that it should exist in this place, where you never were.
It reminds me to be thankful that you are free and no longer frail.
Not bound by illness and anger and regrets.
Thankful that love remains, and can still, somehow, be shared.
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