Fee, Fie, Foe, Friday: Grief is a Strange Grey Bird

I know my Friday rants have been more about food related topics. Life on the food chain isn't an easy thing. You are either the Eater or the Eaten. Some days I seem to have eaten the grief and it is tucked way down; others, it just eats me up. Just lands on me. Grief is a strange grey bird that seems to flutter in and out at will.

Part of this morning was spent finally clearing out my winter clothes and organizing drawers. I'm using Chuck's chest of drawers. Mine takes up more room, yet has less usable space, so it’s going off to charity. His ashes sit on top, still in the box from the crematory. His daughters and I haven't divvied them up yet, and while I know it's just ashes, I seem to want to keep them near me, as if some magic is going to conjure him up again, like adding water to a box of instant mix.

I don't get it, I've just decided to roll with it. I don’t think I really have a choice. If that dark bird has to sit on my shoulder every now and then, so be it. I hope, at some point to teach it to sing. But I know it'll never be caged or ever really fly away.

French Silk Pie for every birthday. Forever.