Good Grief 225

More of the same.
At least I managed a reasonable walk. 
One foot in front of the other but weary. 
As I was driving I listened to one of the Listening Project episodes about a lady who has moved back to her roots in Bridlington after her husband died, thinking it was the right thing to do. She moved away from her adult children and grandchildren in the south. You could hear the sorrow and regret in her voice and she can't afford to go back. She realises now she was escaping, as she thought, the place of grief. But it has, of course, followed her, and deepened into a depression as she has lost the close contact of her family.
I don't know what to say other than you could hear the sorrow and the emptiness in her voice ... or was it mine.
You often hear of the forbearance, the gratitude for family, for friends, the rebuilding, the re-investment in this or that, the engagement in the new, the commitment to all sorts of good things.
You don't often hear about the interminable flatness. the endless sadness, the lack of hope, the drear blankness of the days, the beauty of the landscape washed out, the ebb of all life, the suck of energy into that black hole that stretches on for so many years. The loss of years, the loss of life, both the loss of the actual life and then the loss of the life that goes on unlived after the death.  A life lived in purgatory, unknown and unseen as the years pass by and the world carries on it's way.