Today’s question burning into my soul is, what is hard?
Was it hard to have my only day off be blustery torrential rains, and so cold that we lit a fire in the fireplace at the end of June? I hunkered down and did the things I had put off in favor of being outside; laundry, housework and writing.
Is it hard to sit at the breakfast table with someone you have adored for 30 years and watch them die before you daily? Or is it hard to be the one dying and know the pain of leaving?
My week began with my visit to them. They were bantering merrily, those little endearments and scabs that get picked after so many years together. He turned to tell me of a very dramatic dream. As with all dreams, it was loosely based on something in reality, but the thread was frayed…
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