On Fibonacci Day. Thoughts of grief sometimes get out of control, and grow like the Fibonnacci series.

A poet on AllPoetry, Michael Spangle noted that it was Fibonacci Day and prompted my initial humorous Fibonacci poem, called Fibonacci. But after I wrote it, I thought about this infinite, ever-growing series, which looks like a spiral if you plot it out, and the volume of things like nautilus shells follows an approximate Fibonacci sequence. And sometimes I have gone into a grief spiral if something gets me thinking negatively about losing Juliet. I have worked out strategies to get out of them, but you just go round and round. What if I had called an ambulance the previous night? What if this? Or that? So it seemed appropriate to write a serious Fibonacci on just this topic.