I cried some this morning. The passing’s gone, life interrupted, pressure cooker weeks (and months) left behind. Phase one is over, phase two just beginning.
I finally began to read the words. Until now it was pictures, many I’ve seen before; always appreciated but never SEEN, never READ. I paged through drafts without script, perhaps afraid to read what was within.
His roots, my roots, six years less with dad, raised by mother’s gentle hand, with grandmother sitting, smiling in her usual chair, or milking stool, or barn brace. I, not speaking quite as much native Slovenian but rather rolling my r’s to tell her about the new “thrruck.”
They were good roots that nourished us all and produced fruit of great yield, some now real, and some yet to be imagined. I shall carry on. I shall read the chapters’ page by page, line by line, drawing from them more tears and more inspiration to create wondrous things.