#29 There are no more stories

We write because someone has died. How do we write and bow with respect to the fact that death is at the core of this story? What is the story of the story you're in?

It is getting harder and harder for me to write about Ben and his death - now 21 weeks ago. Prompt #9 was agonizing; Prompt #22 was even more brutal. I'm not sure I'm prepared to find the words to "tell the story of the story that I am in" for today's prompt.

I am in pain. I am crying. There are no words.

Grief is NOT my friend. It is an instrument of torture.

Ben left behind a vintage motorcycle in pieces on our property. He discretely stashed boxes under our deck; parts in the back of our garage; the chassis around the corner in our back yard. I had no idea that this "project" even existed. Now that I want to sell it, (so I can give the $s to his Music Opportunity Fund), I was asked to find the title. The title for a pile of parts? OMG. What a painful task. I went through the paperwork on Ben's desk looking for it last night. I found lots of random documents that Ben found important enough to keep -- which opened up a floodgate of memories and a watershed of tears.

The true story is that there are no more stories. Only memories. Memories that I am determined to dredge up to make sure that Ben stays alive, if only in my heart.

Ben, my dreamer. His motorcycle project somehow epitomizes his DIY spirit and his idealism.