Route 153

Morning Heartbreak April 18, 2012

I’ve been dealing with various heartbreaks lately—a little here, a little there. Maybe that’s one reason I’ve been so quiet. I don’t know what to say.

A good friend of my family died; of my parents’ close eightsome, he was the third to go. Five left. I wasn’t able to make his memorial service. That broke my heart.

It looks like Tim will no longer be going to Portland on business, which means my five-ish trips per year will be cut back drastically (and become somewhat dependent on the willingness of friends I’ve made there to shelter me for a night or two). I haven’t lost Portland, of course. But I have lost it being a regular part of my life, and it breaks my heart.

The yoga instructor I love taught her last class here last week. She is leaving to go to school—in Portland. I’ll miss her.

The general store down the street, the one destroyed a year ago by fire, the one rebuilt to foundation and frame—rumor has it that there’s been too much red tape and there’s no more money and the project has been abandoned. This really breaks my heart. I understand, but I will miss the store and, most particularly, the guys who ran it.

And this morning, when I walked out the door, I found a dead house sparrow in my driveway. He might be a fledgling who fell from the second floor of the garage, where they nest. (Is it too early for fledglings?) He has identifiable adult plumage, but his feathers seem quite fluffy. Standing next to him was a bird in mourning—father? sibling? BFF? other?—standing over the dead one, chirping. I left to do errands and go to the gym.

When I got back, two hours later, they were both still there.

I don’t know how to comfort him.