Grief is a funny thing. You think you have a handle on it, then it washes anew over you, catching you at the moment you least expect it. I finished up my breakfast, then brushed my teeth. Ready for my run, I headed for the hooks in the kitchen where we hang everything: Totes, my Grandma Palmer’s aprons, keys, hats, hoodies, visor, Ipod.
I don’t have an Ipod anymore. How the hell can i run without my Ipod, and how could I have forgotten her so easily? And of course, Todd took his with him to vote, so I am left here to drink coffee, atrophy, and mourn my Ipod once again.
And now I feel guilty for using my dead Ipod to get out of a run.