Grief

Grief comes stealing up the sidewalk beside her, tightly clutching and opening the front door with its icy fingers.  Bumping against her- making her shudder.  It comes in, takes her hand and helps her reach into the hall closet removing a soft well worn shirt from the hanger.  Rubbing the wool of the collar against her cheek, she gets a lingering scent of his skin, his beard, his love.   Clutching the shirt she lays it on the table.  She must find the perfect clothes in which to bury her love, her life.  Levi 517 jeans, new for his Christmas present.  517 any other day just a number.  Today a very special one.  She had told the clerk, she wanted to surprise him with all the 517 Levis they had in stock.  He needed new clothes- as many as the clerk could find.  Christmas.  Socks. Shirts.  All the colors of their love.   She picked up one of  six pairs of Levis.  The final pair he will ever wear.  Warm cozy socks to keep his feet warm while he lies frozen, in the basement, waiting, waiting for all the documents; all the legalities; all the formalities; and all the signatures necessary before he can be turned to ash.  Grief reaches its tendrils into her heart and clamps down as if to never let go.  Grief knocks her to her knees.  Grief is not a friend, though not a stranger either. Grief takes her breath away as if she could never breathe again, but she does.  Now she lays out the clothes perfectly folded ready for delivery to the mortuary, funeral home, or perhaps funeral parlor.   Funeral parlor sounds more like home.  He is going home, while she is standing alone with grief, her constant companion.  Grief becoming more and more familiar and more and more like its cousin, despair.