The tunnel catapults me into my emotional quagmire. Where I must sort this thought and that emotion. This weekly trek is not optional. So I take a deep breath and remember your smell, your touch, your voice. I salvage and preserve beautiful memories. I clean away the rotting leaves and choking vines in your garden; and buried beneath these feelings of grief are many green sprouts and blooms, pushing upward toward the sun. And though I am tired, I am glad I came.