Six days ago, I stood in our old bedroom, so empty but for the bits and pieces strewn around, left after the removal of the furniture. I said 'thank you' to the house, to the room, for sheltering us. And then it came upon me, the waves and waves of memories; the sights, sounds, smells, words, touch, love, anger, laughter, desire. Longing tore at my soul.
I wept as I had not wept before, and memory held me hostage to my pain. I saw again every detail. I felt his touch, his voice. I heard my voice. I saw our dogs, I felt the air, the heat of summer, the cold of winter, the intimate touch of husband and wife, the caress to soothe pain and distress; his to me and mine to his. All this and much, much more cascaded from my memory, as clear as day and yet as distant as the fading moon that shone on our wedding night.
My blessing and my curse I name it, that so easily I can bring it all back, and it is very nearly real.
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