It’s a snowy March day in Wyoming and I’ve been thinking a lot about my Dad today. It’s true what people say, that the grief comes in waves. There are good days and bad days. Days when I don’t want to think or talk about it at all, and days where I can’t quite focus fully on anything else because he is on my mind. Some days it feels good to cry, and other days…
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One month. One month ago I was sitting at home on my yoga mat preparing a music playlist for my class and my brother called. “You need to come home Roz.” His voice cracked, “It’s time.” It’s a blur after that. A call to Michael, searching for a flight, packing, waiting, worrying, crying into Penny’s fur, laying down for an hour that felt useless, a four hour drive to Denver in the middle of the…
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