My grief process continues, as it will for my lifetime.
I started writing a poem or something like a poem.
I have this mug that I got from Dad who got it from Anna that says, "Angels in us coffee".
We got it in 2016; when we saw Mom and Dad in the middle of the year, Ben had watched a documentary about Pentecostal Christians and they had a funny way of saying good bye-- "Angels on your body."
So that is how we acquired the mug, which we still have, and is still not broken (Congratulations, Grace). This morning I was drinking (caffeinated (after a month of boring decaf (Swiss water process)) coffee out of this mug, and an image of angels with Mom as she lay asleep at home, waiting to go Home.
As also a way to process a very traumatic event (the day Mom fell asleep and wouldn't be roused), here is my poem.
