rumitoid

the excruciatingly hopeful and taunting and comfort of those moments of clarity. When they are for a time who we loved and remembered as is. We engage, so extremely joyful to have them back as if from the dead. We usually blabber and gush and make little sense ourselves. Most will catch themselves and laugh. But before another meaningful sentence, they are gone again. Crushing, so crushing. The loss then is enormous. They were just there. So close. Very cruel. The body and mind are unable to deal with the change. Stunned to silence and quaking. Over time, we adjust. The driving need to have them as they once were psychologically suppressed. And that loss of hope hurts. Burns. God is all we have left in comfort, not the loved one we knew.