Promoting my daughter’s blog today with a good word about what grief is not.
The top of a hill in middle Tennessee was where my family convened. And when I think of the smell buried deep in my senses and the 80s clothing and the grownups talking and kids playing, I would give everything to go back for just a night. To catch the fireflies and sing the songs. To hear the guitar playing late into the night.
11 years and one week ago, I missed a call from my dad, then a text and I knew. When I called my dad, his first words were “you may want to pull over.”
The thing was, I knew. I had a feeling that my Pop’s routine surgery wouldn’t be so routine. I knew deep down, that any prayers I prayed might go unanswered. That I couldn’t outrun grief much longer.
I wept on the way home. And then my sister and I tethered loose ends…
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