And what of all the baby toys I’d carefully cleaned and put away?

What of the tiny clothes I’d washed and folded and labeled by age in large bags.

What of the car seat and play mat and maternity clothes?

What of Audrey’s books- “Just Me and My Dad,” and “Daddy Cuddles?”  And the Korean ones she keeps asking me to read.

What of husband and wife and children and home?  Of tradition and shared memory and laughter and music?

Clothes stay in bags in the closet, books go unread, your cello collects dust.
It is all

1 thought on “Dust”

  1. Yes, I imagine losing the life you were anticipating stings quite deeply. I follow your blog and read your entries before bed. I hope one day your days are better than they've been lately.

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