In my work driven by 7-day forecasts, I suppose it makes sense that this journey became its most poignant and hyper-real once the day of your deaths rolled into the window of the evening weather report. It will be hot and raining on that day - but will it be a raging storm, or a mournful drizzle?
And I am here, at the eye of the hurricane - it is quiet and still here, and yet all around me swirl the dark and changing clouds of emotion. From my vantage point, I can see people grappling with their anger, their sadness, their confusion. I watch them try to take shelter. Some visit repeatedly, unable to make this visit their last; others don't visit at all, unable to face it. Some are filled with hard-hitting questions; others keep conversation light, afraid to say anything that could remind us of our reality.
I am waiting, now. Waiting for the storm to pass. Waiting for the winds of time to rip away this house and all that has passed within its walls. Waiting for the emergency crews to come and clean up the mess, wrap a blanket around my shoulders and take me home.
Waiting for the sun to come out.