the authenticity of grief

I still hear his voice, almost a decade since we last spoke. Sometimes, I imagine it’s over the airwaves of amateur radio, an interest he rekindled and mentored me in. We come across each other by chance, calling out into the darkness for another soul to connect with, and pick up the pieces of what we once had, one tiny hurt at a time. Reality sets in, and I remember the hard lesson: time does not heal all wounds.

1,185 days.

I alluded to some good news yesterday; the first piece of it is more or less final now. As of this morning, I am done with divorce court. I have two months of maintenance (alimony) and lawyer fees left to pay and this will be a memory. 3 years, 2 months, 30 days 102,384,000 seconds 1,706,400 minutes 28,440 hours 169 weeks In the time it took for this ordeal to end , I could have walked 5,925 miles (assuming 5 miles/day), from the Pacific to Atlantic coast and back.