I’m grieving.  Yesterday I almost choked twice because my throat is so tight.  I sit and look at waves, watch birds fly. There are trumpet flowers outside the door.  This is the year I turn 70. I trumpet that I’m of an age to know and proclaim grief. If not now, when.  There’s nothing to ignore.

I text Jan, Gar’s wife, and she comes over and we cry and cry.

Trumpet flowers by the ocean

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