Jun. 12, 2004 - 22:20 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Twelve Days

I sat down to the keyboard to make an entry. But what entry ?

As I started to type the heading my mind went back to a thing of long standing. Every weekend, a Saturday or Sunday, we would have Rob over to dinner and for company. Birthdays etc., we jointly attended, after all family gets together on those special days.

Heather would cook up something he liked, which fitted my appetite too, with her special twist on the menu.

It was long before he started to ail, a sort of ingathering on a weekly basis. So on a weekend basis we saw and visited with him every weekend. Except when we went to Oregon for Easter. The phone line from Oregon to Denver burned up then.

It struck me like a hammer -- there will be an empty seat at our table on the weekend, a longed for person not there, ever again. A period of grief should have a limit -- but Oh Lord, how long will it be ?

I don't intend to belabor my diary forever with sorrow, hoping that the sun begins to shine through the clouds after while. I remember Al Schroeder grieving over his son's death for quite awhile and I don't blame him a bit, nor do I blame anyone coping as best they can over a son's death, Aunt Sandy for one. So I guess it will be plod along 'til things ease up, with temporary setbacks like tonight.

Rob died on the 31st of May and it has only been Twelve Days . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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