Clifton & the Yellow house

Almost three hours later from my home I arrive to the Clifton area and the locked gate that leads to the Yellow House. I check in with the world of social media before I lose cell phone coverage and see the devastating news. Trudy killed herself in her bedroom home, with her family in the nearby living room. She leaves behind her husband and three little girls. I realize that today is January 25th, the day that my own sister died. I cant stop the crying.

There is a lone mountain peak in front of the Yellow house. I stare at it from the front porch, watching the sun go down. I touch base with my ex sister-in-law to try and give her comfort, but I know all too well that words do not help.

Nothing does really, except the passing of time, and for some even that is not enough to alleviate the pain and sorrow. The loneliness can be all consuming.

I try to ride empty stretches of desert road to clear my mind, but it does not have the effect I want.

I want to heal the pain, mend the broken hearts and empty spaces that she left in this world.

January the 25th is a cursed day. Too many people that I love leave this earth on this day. Broken violin strings play melancholy notes in my mind as I sit in the Yellow house in silence.

I see the brilliant Milky Way in the darkness as planets slowly orbit through the Universe. The spirits of the deceased float upwards into the heavens.

I call out to them to “Please Stay“, but my words are not heard.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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