Page 48 - The Houseguest
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coffee, I was feeling a strange rejuvenation. Was this the approach to the final “Acceptance” stage of grief at last? I paid the check and went back to the house to finish what I’d come here to accomplish.
I pulled into the driveway and walked with determination to the bathroom to wash my hands and face again. Looking into my own eyes in the mirror, I nodded, confidently picked up both containers and carried them to the far end where the pier met the sand dunes. Walking barefoot in the sand underneath the pier’s edge to the pylons, I reached the area where Katie and I would build our sandcastles. We’d chosen this spot where the waves crashed and splashed the most because of the unceasing breezes and great packing sand. It was private and it was perfect. I didn’t hesitate knowing the time had come to do this and I was ready. Reaching into the container, I gently collected the cremains of my love into the cupped palms of my hands, knelt and released them into the whitecaps as they scattered into the sea. Overwhelmed with indescribable emotion, I then reached into the other container and repeated my actions. This time, speaking the words of the poem Karina had composed for a friend who had lost a child:
I have felt the pain of heartache in the days since you have passed. Never again will I take for granted how long a life will last.
It is I who loved so deeply
and so much of me, is you,
that when you left this earthly place, a part of me left, too.
The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life
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