Emotional Rescue

Not like the Stones song, but something I needed yesterday.
We took Gery to breakfast at Fuller's downtown, then he and I drove to St. Helens where we walked all around that small town, including a very lovely creekside hike and the waterfront.
But, everything we saw was a sharp reminder of Becky for him.  She and Gery came here one day, in the early 1980s, for a teaching job interview when they were both looking for work. During her interview, Gery checked out the print shop that had an opening. They both got hired and lived a couple of very happy years in St. Helens.
Happy memories just spilled out of him; he showed me exactly where they sat on the courthouse steps to eat the tuna sandwiches she made when she surprised him for lunch one day; exactly where he parked the bike he rode to work; where they shopped; what they bought.
All the while, as we walked, and as I wondered if he was going to burst open with longing, I was reeling after finding an email from my two overly religious and conservative midwestern sisters. Something about God and Trump, some cockamamy proof that the former is looking out for the latter. I actually didn't read the links they included. But I have asked them many times to never send me that crap, and as we walked I kept composing a reply in my head. So very draining and demoralizing. I came home, cried, and took a nap.