The first weeks have been about lots of hugs, kisses. Crying silently in bed and sometimes walking to the near park and crying there. Grieving had started and I was in a strange way happy.
I was living all the emotions together. Like Rumi's "Guest House" poem, emotions were visiting and leaving. I was happy one moment to be there, to hold dad's hand, to feel mom's soft cheeks, angry next second at something mom may have said, sad next second hearing dad trying to breath between coughs.
No comments:
Post a Comment