The thing about grief is – after you get up off the mat and grief lay there but only for a moment you think your eyes deceive you as grief takes on extra pounds and suddenly it is no longer in your weight class and you fear the proportions are now asking you to take on ‘the human condition’ and you are just too frail for that and the weight of vulnerability threatens to take you down.

It is how I end up in bed, all too often, and the absence of Bette brings to mind a door to a room I dare not enter. The room is without windows or furniture and lit by a low watt bare bulb placed in the middle of the ceiling. I don’t know anything about the room. It may be a box floating in space or one of many in a mansion not far from a cliff overlooking the ocean somewhere on the planet.

I lay there and in vain try to understand what it is about the room that frightens me and soon begin to realize it’s not the room but the door; a door that could close and lock and leave me without a key.

How long would I be in that room waiting for someone to come and unlock the door and then, maybe, find the room empty.

Love To You All