You left on a 12. A mathematician, you referred to 12 as a completion.

With this numerical flourish you finalized your human form. Even at your end, giving me something to think about.

12 months in a year prompted you to prompt me to make our PCI program 12 months—just enough for solid self-reflection, you noted. You were right, of course.

Now I mine the depths of all that you gave and all you left me without.

Like my grandfather coal miners, I go down to the dark depths with trepidation. But down I go. Down into that uncertain blackness that promises pain.

Stagnation and suffocation stifle all agency. Actions cease. Dreams pause. The only direction is inward.

Where else can I go? Yet, I am careful not to dig too quickly, haphazardly, without awareness. I must stay alert for faults and fractures. I strive to keep my vibrations steady, even silent. If the container wall collapses where then would I be?

CS Lewis, explaining his condition when his wife died, said there is a paralysis in grief. I agree. A necessary stopping; a literal stone-walling.

Delayed on too many projects, I pray there is still time enough.

While I wait, I breathe. I mine these hostile depths, with a patient urgency, searching for our soul-connection. Embers burn up the trivial.

Sorrow Full. I am so grateful.

Copyright, Gloria DeGaetano, 2023. All rights reserved.