Death is inhumane.
Death is inhumane. By its very nature. Slowly unfettering all ties. Loosening all controls…
Grief and Coffee
Sometimes grief is melting to the floor, uncontrollable silent sobs, waiting on the coffee to brew. When the cool floor catches you in it’s solid embrace and stops the spiraling.
My father is dying.
My father is dying and yesterday I stood for 15 minutes in the aisle of the Hobby Lobby frozen, staring blankly at leather tooling supplies, flooded in memories from his time at Norristown State Hospital.