I make a pot of tea and clean the kitchen. The 12 year-old has made eggs his way, meaning the kitchen appears to have been the victim of a nuclear bomb consisting of yellow and white. I wash the dishes, clean the surfaces I have cleaned over and over before. White papers in the form of jets and airplanes swirl around my head, land in the water. I started this last night by creating a toy for the 5 year-old to keep him out of my hair. Now he's in my water, disturbing the thoughts around my head.

I feel...unfinished. There was a death last night. I am both sorry and happy for his passing. Long life well lived, nothing left unsaid, finally reunited with all those who've gone on before and were waiting for his arrival. Now all members of that immediate family are together again somewhere. I can't be sad because the echos of their vibrating
joy is surrounding me, pressing the sadness out where it flows in the rivers of someone else's tears.