They do spat, but mostly they are comfortable with each other. They chased and wrestled last night. Eleanor won, but with a kind of gentleness. They share the tree and the bed, with intermittent friction. Zeppo gets carried away with his enthusiasm at times. He's young.
I think the thing about grief, if there was love, then some of that love splashes back along with the pain. If there was only anger, that boomerangs as well. Like slamming a door too hard, and it rebounds. With Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Walt, I felt the affection seeping back, the memories were rich and lovely. With my father, there was an empty boom followed by immense relief. Right now, all I'm getting is the anger and disdain. We were once bonded, when I was very small, that break is part of the yawning emptiness.
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