We're a mega update behind, we know.
We're sitting on a porch in Charlotteville, Tobago, a fishing town popular with divers for being less fancy smancy than its neighbor Speyside, where tours depart to divers out to the island of Little Tobago.
On this porch, we have internet, and I was compelled, as I am so often, sometimes multiple times in a day, to check Biggie's facebook page for activity. I don't know why, but I do it again and again and again, and read the same posts again and again right back to where HE is actually posting, though I usually don't make it that far before I so torn at I don't need to keep reading. Sometimes I crave the rush of pain because it seems so incredibly unbelievable the rest of the time, and at home and especially here, in Tobago, I am in a world where others don't share my sadness. I look at the first couple things on the page, and I'm still numb, numb, numb, and then SLAM. I can't really explain why I do it, or why I need to do it.
Today it was my own past post that pushed me over. And I started crying, sitting here on this porch in paradise. Walker reached over and gave me a love scratch. And then the power went out in whole village. Our laptop was the only light we could see. Everything went silent.
And a minute later, power returned.
I'm not a big one for signs, but it was an awesome touch, Biggie, if it is you.
3 comments:
Oh, my sweet Allison, this took my breath away. And not in a bad way.
When you get back, and we have some time, I'll share my own stories. I have no doubt that he is touching us.
Thank you.
I love you guys....
Deb
"the only light we could see. Everything went silent." Oh yes, oh, thank you Leetle Al. You feel it too.
Love you Biggie. Love your gentle "awesome touch."
Dad
When we lose someone, we can call daily happenings coincidences or we can choose to remember our loved one and feel his presence.
I prefer the latter, as did Grandpa Fred and Grandma Shirley, Ken and Jane, when missing and remembering the one they lost. Love to all.
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