When I take the trash and recyclables to the curb on Sunday, I often think about the changes my life has gone through.
I used to think, "A year ago, I was in my own home."
Then, it became, "A year ago, my father was alive."
Now, it's become, "Two years ago, I was in my own home."
Next month, will I say, "Two years ago, my father was alive--?"
Do we ever stop grieving for what we once had?
