The Same, But Not

Last week, I went to work. I did what I absolutely had to do. It seemed though that I was wading through sludge. I guess it was emotional sludge. The sludge of loss. Getting to the end of the week was as if I was finally able to let out a long held breath.

This week, after the interment, I went to work. I did what I had to do, and I found myself complaining about the ordinary things of the average day there. I even laughed, loudly once or twice. Things were going back to "normal", but they weren't, were they? Or maybe "normal" is different now.

I passed the Rock and Roll Ralph's on Sunset. I could see my father wheeling his cart toward the Sara Lee frankfurter rolls for his Hebrew National franks. I have called his home phone a couple of times to hear his outgoing voice mail. I have left a message as if he just might be there. Just might be there. But of course, he'll never be. I have been hoping for some sign, some message, that he's ok. I maybe had one. I lost a piece of his wallet that had some information in it. I looked all over the house. I looked in my car. This morning, on my way to work, I asked Dad to help me find it. I went into my office, and there it was straight a way. Coincidence? I don't think so, but one never knows in such things.

So, here I am living my life, going to work, seeing friends, coming home, watching TV, making entries in my blog. Everything's the same. But not. A big big not.