I’m here.

Dragged from a depression bed

For a cloud. A CLOUD.

This veiled bridge between heaven and hell

Sitting on the sand

Tears streaming

God spoke. No, more like whispered.

"I'm Here."

Sorrowful relief

She's been moved to memory care

It's the kind of thing that is sticky in the psyche.

The more you try to wipe it away, the more the stickiness spreads to the fingers.

And then everything else.

Will the worry ever end?

The grief?