Okay; daddy's just about all
better now.
I still keep bumping into the
bruised areas of my heart, through the course of the day. Can't help it, either
– Ms. golden Portia has been a keen focus of my life for nearly all of the past
couple decades… and beyond action, and even habit, this includes thought, and
pauses now and then to reflect – not on grief, but on fatherhood/daughterhood,
and yesterday and today and tomorrow. And prayer.
I'm metaphorically and emotionally
rubbing my hands briskly together, both to brush off the worst of the remnants
of the memory of the deepest of the grief of letting go, that seized me so hard
Friday… and just as briskly out of eagerness to resume things around here that
still need my attention… such as this silly blog. Tomorrow – after an
unapologetic week's delay – we return to Springfield.
Plus I'm just dying – well,
not dying… even more eager, rather – to hear from Portia and Pauli
how the weekend's long roadtrip to Massachusetts turned out: the campus,
the town, and all that: my hand's on the phone, and eye on the inbox. Hello?
And did they bring back any
chowdah?
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