WHEN GRIEVING
When grieving, it was the comfort of the familiar that anchored and lulled me.
The scrubbing of eggs stuck to the bottom of a pan, the wiping down of crusted sauce on a shelf in the fridge, the low hum of the washing machine.
When grieving, it was the comfort of the familiar that anchored and lulled me.
The scrubbing of eggs stuck to the bottom of a pan, the wiping down of crusted sauce on a shelf in the fridge, the low hum of the washing machine.