Five Books

 At this point in my life, I like the idea of some goals for the year.  My niece Elyssa put on facebook that her goal for this year was to read sixty books.  I sort of tucked that idea away.  I read quite a bit and wondered whether I actually read that many books in a year.  Ever since Chuck's surgery I found my reading to be really compromised as I had trouble concentrating.

However, at the end of this first month of 2019 I realize that - including the books I have listened to - I actually completed five books this month.  And I do wonder whether reading for me right now may be a particularly healthy activity as I am able to get out of myself and engage in other stories and other lives.

So, I write this today as a record of the books of this month and to encourage me to continue with this goal - 5 books a month.  Completed - as a library customer I take out and peruse many more - so completion is the goal.

Here are the 5 of this month. 

Sunburn by Laura Lippman.  I heard Laura Lippman speak at the Virginia Festival of the Books and have become a real fan of her writing.  This is a story of a woman Polly who leaves her husband and daughter when they are on vacation in Ocean City to start a new life.  It begins with a meeting at a bar between her and a man called Adam.  Over the course of the novel secrets unfold and there is a fair amount of suspense.  I really enjoyed this.  I listened to it on Audible.  It was the first book I was able to finish since Chuck's passing.

The Good Daughter by Karin Slaughter.  Another writer I became acquainted with through the festival of the books.  I read a couple of her novels about female cops in Atlanta and liked them.  This was about two sisters who had a horrific experience in childhood.  It went back and forth between the present and the past and mysteries about their life unfolded slowly.  Again I listened to this on Audible and it seemed long at times.  The ending was well worth the read.

The Storied Life of AJ Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin.  I read this last week staying with Geoff and Vicky.  It is wonderful.  It is the story of AJ Fikry whose wife has died and whose bookstore is in financial trouble.  The story is told with every chapter referencing a different s book.  The literary allusions abound in this quirky story filled with hope and love and life.  I absolutely recommend it.  It was just what I needed.

The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware.  I started this in North Carolina and finished it in the airplane ride home.  It is one of those books with a narrator who you are not sure you can trust - Laura "Lo" is a journalist recovering from a burglary at home when she goes to cover a luxury cruise with only a handful of cabins.  She drinks too much,  doesn't get enough sleep and is on anti depressents which makes her story of the missing woman of Cabin 10 suspect to the authorities.  It was a page turner and has a satisfying ending.  I liked it ok.

Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott.  This book was given to me by a friend and it was the perfect gift at the perfect time.  I have referenced it often in this blog as I have slogged through the last months of suffering and grief.  I am grateful for Anne Lamott's wisdom, wordplay, humor and humanity.  My book club is reading it and I totally recommend.

So, the year begins with a little bit of satisfaction for starting this project of reading.  I feel like I need some disciplines to anchor me as I wander and wonder about what is next.

"No man is an Island; Every book is a world."  from The Storied Life of AJ Fikry

Going Home

Tomorrow

and I am getting ready to go from north carolina to Ohio
from 50 degrees to Zero degrees
from a serene space of rest to a home filled with Chuck tasks

I will be ready to go tomorrow.  It is time.

We went on the Ferry to an aquarium and then lunch and a walk on Kure Beach.  The aquarium was really magical and I spent a lot of time just staring at jellyfish, and a yellow eel, and tropical multicolored amazing fish.  It was not very crowded and I could just be in a place of awe looking at the wonder of creation under the sea.

It was good to be out of myself and seeing the ALL of creation in a new way. Vicky and I talked about all the varied  and bright colors of these creatures and how often we limit the colors that we wear and decorate to greys, brown, blacks and whites.  I almost forget about yellows, fuschia, lime green, deep purples. I think there may be something here about self imposed limitations. 

I was so happy to be back walking on the beach one more time.  This time the sand was not packed and the walk was laborious and we did not really go far.  But to be in the presence of the waves that go on and on, one after another was good for my spirit.   Each wave is replaced  by another and I have this sense of both impermanence and eternity.  There is nothing like the ocean to bring me into a sense of oneness with all creation and with God. 

I found myself looking up beach properties and trying to imagine myself taking a week renting a condo on the beach off season and just walking day and night.  It seems like a dream of what might give me peace.  it probably won't happen.  But these short walks this week have been helpful to me.
As has this whole week away from home and just allowing myself to rest and receive the love and care from Vicky and Geoff.

And now I prepare myself to leave.  The airline pass is printed, I have some little gifts to give grandchildren and I leave tomorrow morning.

I write this hoping and trusting that in some way my grief is a little less raw and I can begin to turn the corner into whatever is next.  I look forward to sleeping in my bed (yes, it is now MY bed) and seeing children and grandchildren.  But the wonder is what new thing will home bring me?

I finished the book Almost Everything, Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott today.  And it reminds me that I leave this beautiful place, people and week behind with hope.    She writes:

Hope changes as you get a little older, from the hope that this or that happens to hope in life, in old friends, laughter, art, goodness, helpers.  I hope and am amazed, some early mornings, at just finding myself alive.....It's like in the Samuel Beckett novel:  "You must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on."

She ends the book with this paragraph:

We have all we need to come through. Against all odds, no matter what we've lost, no matter what messes we've made over time, no matter how dark the night, we offer and are offered kindness, soul, light, and food, which create breath and spaciousness, which create hope, sufficient unto the day.


i come back to the cold of Columbus hoping that I will live my life in more color and trust the presence of God through the impermanence of life.  I come back hoping that I will find places to serve and give to others as Geoff and Vicky have done for me.  I come back hoping that I can not just survive and go on - but thrive and begin to find joy and some new beginnings.

May it be so.

Good Morning Grief

Those are the first words I wrote in my journal today.  Good Morning Grief.  Are you still here?
Answer - yes I am and are you going to address me.

I sit in this place of "retreat" in stillness and allow the grief to emerge.  The sad feelings come, the memories roll, the fears, the loneliness, all of it comes and I sit with it.  Hoping that acknowledging and feeling all of it will eventually lessen its power over me.  Hoping.

Following Chuck's surgery he was in the hospital for almost a week.  During that time he rested and the doctors and the nurses tended to him and gradually he was strong enough to go back home.  In some way, that is how I feel about this time in Southport.  I am here following the surgery that was the loss of Chuck and my body and soul are recovering from the shock of it.  Geoff and Vicky are tending to me and my "medicine" is resting, writing, reading, walking and just being.  We also do things like watch TV together and have wonderful meals.  It is a place of recovery I hope.  This image helps me not to feel sadness about my sadness, grief about my grief and distress about my distress.  I need to get away from the judging voice within me about how i am doing the work of grieving.

i read in my book on Grieving Mindfully about "Alchemy" that can happen.  Here are some quotes from it:

The alchemists were concerned with a profound spiritual process - how to transform coarse experiences , such as distress, suffering and ignorance into meaningful and sublime experiences such as compassion, transcendence and self actualization.

Even when emotional pain continues, Carl Rogers believed accepting the hardship and challenge of emotional pain is the act of accepting yourself unconditionally, not just when you are feeling good.

Two nights about I had a dream in which Chuck came back and I held onto his sleeve and wanted him to explain what had happened and i was afraid he was going to leave again.  Later in that dream there was a scene where I was walking around without any pants - which is - a symbol of vulnerability.

All of which is to say that I do feel very vulnerable in my grief.  I like to be positive, upbeat and planning for the future.  Instead I am living in a grey space and cannot right now imagine what the next year is going to look like for me.

Five weeks ago today was Christmas Eve.  I sat beside Chuck and said goodbye to him.  And everything has changed.  So I am where I am right now.  Here.  Believing in the possibility of Alchemy but living on the other side of it in grey, distressing Grief.

Good Morning Grief.  Again.  Today.

Planning the day

With Geoff and Vicky.

I write this from my "retreat place" in Geoff and Vicky's house.  The sun is shining and i have meditative piano music playing on my phone.  It is "cold" - 50 degrees!  And I know from talking to Audrey this morning that it is snowing in Columbus.  It is pleasant here for sure.

There is a comforting routine to staying here.  We all get up early and meet in front of their TV at 7 AM and watch the first 20 minutes of CBS News - a practice that mirrors my life at home.  Although I am not always so disciplined at turning off the TV at 7:20.  it is enough so that we know what is going on.

Then we plan the day.  Today we go back to the beach - this time taking a ferry to Bald Island.  i am looking forward to seeing the island and - most of all - walking on the beach.  Maybe looking into renting a place here for my 70th birthday with my siblings.  I don't know for sure - I only know that I am drawn to the beach.

yesterday we walked on the beach for a while.  My brother Wayne and Gail called at the same time so half the time I was talking to them on the phone.  i feel so cared for by my family.  As we were walking back, however, I was seized by what seemed like a spasm of grief.  it just comes up in me and i feel like sobbing.  I did not share this with Geoff and Vicky - he was talking and she was picking up shells and I had on protective sun glasses as my face was breaking in two.

I don't need or want a witness to these episodes of grief.  They are not part of the plans of the day and my hope is that it is a release of the darkness that is just within me.  I cannot even say what I cry about:  is it missing Chuck?  is is no longer being married?  Is it the changes in my life?  Is it feeling overwhelmed with love?  Is it the sight of these waves and sand and the myriad memories of the everything of my life?  I don't know.  I never know.  I just cry for a moment or two and then it is over.

And I write about it today just to remember and witness this journey of sadness. I cannot really make sense of it.  Here is a quote I underlined this morning from Anne LaMott

"It's ridiculous how hard life is. Denial and avoidance are unsuccessful strategies, but truth and awareness mend.  Writing, creation and stories are food."

So i write.  And write and write.
And trust in the release and healing power of tears that we do not plan for but come anyway.

Telling my story

I sit down to write this blog again this morning after reading some of Anne Lamotte's book Almost Everything: Notes on Hope.  And I was reading about writing.

When anybody is going through anything - good or bad - my response is frequently: are you writing about it?  I have found writing to be the most helpful way of getting through and understanding (as much as we ever understand) the events of my life  or "my story."

Writing provides a record for me of what has happened.  What I learn over and over again is how many times I have forgotten events and incidents in my life.  And I forget how I felt at the time and how things have changed.  Because everything does change - often slowly and imperceptibly but it does.

I also write to remember what I have read.  That is what this blog is for me often.  That is why I include quotes and poems and prayers - so I don't lose them.  Here is a quote from the book I want to remember:

The universe is usually telling us the same story, that our lives are rich and fluid and infinitely mysterious; that we only thought we were stuck, that nothing stays the same for long."

Writing is a release for me - for my emotions  - and at the same time a place for reflection and having distance to look at what has happened.

I write first - often - in my journal. Then I synthesize it and put it here so I will have a record.

Here is a quote by Wendell Berry that I like:
"Be joyful though you have considered all the facts."

I like that and I am finding myself feeling more joyful as I rest here in Southport.  The facts that are difficult for me right now are  are these:  Chuck is gone and I miss him.  AND  I am going to be seventy in three months.
I consider these facts and they are both hard for me and at the same time I know this - that I will not be stuck in sorrow and sadness.  Grief and aging are real but so is comfort and healing and new life.

So, I sit here on a sunny Friday morning and soon will be walking the beach with my very loving brother and sister in law - Geoff and Vicky.  And I know that slowly the love that I experience here is healing my broken heart.  And preparing me to go home to the life that is ahead for me.

As I sit with God my prayer is:  Breathe in Love.
And  I remember :  Love heals.  I can find joy today.

Impermanence

I write this from Southport North Carolina where I am "on retreat" at my brother Geoff and Vicky's house.  They have a beautiful room they added to their home where I am staying for a week and I have the opportunity here for company and solitude, for walking and writing and reading and rest.  i am away from my regular life and "on retreat."

We took a nice long walk together and i could see some of the effects of Hurricane Florence.  We saw a popular restaurant that is still not open due to the storm and heard about a movie house that is literally gone after the hurricane.  It is a reminder of impermanence - nothing lasts forever.

I was reading my book on grieving mindfully and this quote from Buddha:
"Everything that has a beginning has an end." 
And that message is all around me.

I continue to reflect on the last days of Chuck's life.  On the plane over yesterday i realized it was 6 weeks duration from the surgery to his passing.  And there is so much that I remember - hour by hour and almost moment by moment.  It was a time I will not forget ever.

At the same time, I reflected i have the same strong memories of the days at the beginning of our relationship - the first date, the second date and many of the activities in that first year together.  Somehow beginnings and endings do make their mark on our soul.

The plane ride from Columbus to Charlotte was uneventful and I sat beside a very nice woman named Betty.  She was returning from being with her sister in law at her death bed and I shared that I was going to visit my brother a month after my husband died.  Batty was older than me and lost her husband a out four years ago.  She was very compassionate and kind.  She said that her motto in life is "Deal or No Deal."  Meaning: deal with it or else.

So, I am here facing and in my own way dealing with the reality and the sorrow of the face of impermanence.  Everything has a beginning and an end and we remember it, honor it, and deal with it.

Grief Walking

I have done power walking and prayer walking and now I am consciously grief walking.

It started last week when I had lunch with Marnie downtown.  After I left her I took myself for a walk and kept saying:  "May the grief flow through me."  Sometimes it feels like it is just clinging to my body.  It helps to write, to talk and it really seems to help to walk.  Walking downtown made me think about Chuck and how much he loved to just look around at everything - the people, the stores, the stuff of downtown and I missed him so much.

Yesterday I was at the mall early in the morning and felt led to "mall walk" but actually to griefwalk there.  The same mantra and the sights of places we have been together, items that have been purchased for him, restaurants we have been to.  And walking,  stretching my legs and the awareness of muscles and breathing and movement was so good for me.

This morning I woke up at Marnie's house where I spent the night.  Erik's uncle died and I was taking with Addie and Reagan for the night.  They left for school by 7 am and by 7:30 I was on my way out the door with Ginger on the leash.  I started walking down the street toward the park and ended up continuing for about 40 minutes - walking past the lake, on snowy paths and around the block.  It was cold and invigorating and again - good for my body and my soul. The ice on the lake reminded me of how frozen I feel  to be grieving .

 I looked at the footsteps on the path I thought of how many people have walked this walk of deep sadness.

I was aware of how much I dreaded going to my home without Chuck but of course, I did.  I received two notes from friends in the mail.  One of them contained this poem by George MacDonald which speaks to my heart this morning.

Do not hurry

As you walk with grief

It does not help the journey.

Walk slowly,

pausing often

Do not hurry

As you walk with grief.

Be not disturbed

By memories that come unbidden.

Swiftly forgive;

and let Christ speak for you

unspoken words.

Unfinished conversation

will be resolved in Him.

Be not disturbed.

Be gentle with the one

who walks in grief.

If it is you,

Be gentle with yourself.

Swiftly forgive,

Walk slowly,

Pausing often.

Take time, be gentle

As you walk with grief.

Letting Go and Holding On

And holding on and letting go.

That is what I find myself noticing lately.  I just returned from an overnight to Toledo where I saw Chuck's daughter Lisa.  I brought her necklaces with "cremains" in them for her and her daughter and Chuck T shirts for her to have made into a T shirt quilt.  As I was packing the T shirts I had to set one aside for myself.  For some reason.  I told Audrey I was taking them and she kept three.

This seems like a metaphor for how it is for us these days.  We do want to and need to let go of some of the "Chuck stuff."  My house is full of his treasures, his clothes, his dishes, his passions.  It is full.  And I don't need or want all of it - but I want some of it. 

I am trying to be responsive to my soul's desire and to not move too fast but still to move a little towards the new reality that he is physically gone.  I watched a couple of episodes of the netflix "The magic art of tidying up" and find myself using her example.  I take each item and hold it and see if it "sparks joy."  And I think it is helpful.  But you would be surprised at what makes the cut - like the T shirt that says Poppi and all the grandchildren's names and the bandanna that is like the American flag.  I even did that today sorting through 30 pairs of glasses that had accumulated around the house.  It is a process and part of this journey of grief.  Of course, she writes about how items "spark joy" and what that looks like in me is often "brings tears."  But whatever - it is the same thing.

I continue to read slowly through several books.  One of which is The Five Invitations: Discovering what death can teach us about Living Fully>"  This morning I read about "non-waiting.: the antidote to the trap of expectation - an open receptive quality of mind."  My expectation is that God is at work and comforting and healing me. In God's own time and when I am "waiting" I find myself impatient for the healing to begin!  When will these tears end?  I am waiting!  If I can adopt "non-waiting" maybe I will trust that all will be well in due time.  I do my "work" - feeling both the grief and the gratitude and moving slowly forward and trust that eventually all will be well, all will be well.

So I let go and I hold on and hold on and let go and trust God and live in hope.  I will end this post with a quote from the book:

Hope with an attitude of non-waiting gives rise to a timeless expansiveness, a joyful openness, a receptivity not contingent upon circumstances and conditions. 

 It arises from an immediate connection with the benevolence of this human life....

.Mature hope is a bit like Brahm's "Lullaby". a sweet reminder that helps us to relax and appreciate the potential for new life that always infuses the present moment.

Another Day

Today is Thursday and I live into the tasks of getting back into life.  Yesterday I texted three people for whom I do spiritual direction and today I will talk to one on the phone.  Next week I will see the other two.   I hope I can be present.

I got up early again - but 5 am is better than 4 am, so there must be progress here. After wasting too much time watching news I finally started straightening the house, watering flowers that may be on their last leg, putting pictures away and thinking about writing thank you notes.  As I move around the house and put the Chuck candle on the mantle and a picture of him in the living room, I cry and cry.  As I write this I do the same.  What can you do?  The sadness is just always present if I allow it to come up.

Yesterday I met with my peer group and "presented" my grief.  Here is some of what came out of it:

The question::
whose lap do you sit on when you want to cry?  (answer - it used to be Chuck)

The realization: that the wonderful celebration service was full of past parishioners and children and grandchildren who do not want to see me fall apart.  No wonder I just stayed in role and the tears remained buried.    Waiting to be expressed.

The knowing: - I need to move my body to release some of this grief.  Whether this means a trip to the gym, time on the treadmill or walking in my home.  It is cold outside - 19 degrees so I can't do what I want.  I so look forward to being in North Carolina and Arizona.. Lisa suggested that her spiritual director years ago said the there is something that happens when you walk 40 minutes.  a short walk does not do it.  I will remember that.

The insight - my "holy team" (spiritual guides) are surrounding me and saying "we are glad you are here/"  I have always been told I have a lot of spirit guides - so I am leaning hard on them now.and trusting they are here.


One of the people in my prayer group said it was like I had been  gut punched and thrown against the wall over the past two months.  And that brought me to tears.  There was \something so wonderful about being heard yesterday.  I need to catch my breath and just to catch up with what has happened.  And of course, that means time and rest and trying to be present.  Not easy

I talked about this blog  and someone suggested that they are "mourning pages."  And that is so true.  So true.

So, it is another day of me trying to find the balance between numbing and feeling and doing and resting and weeping and laughing.

I have been so blessed to have been with Chuck for 25 years.  I remain grateful and grieving.

Overwhelming

That is the word that best describes the last few days - or actually the last 6 weeks.
I looked it up in the dictionary and one definition of overwhelm was "to overpower in thought and feeling."  Yes.  That is close.

I write this blog as a record and also to somehow maybe identify what I am feeling. Yesterday when I got aup at 3:30 in the morning (sleeping late today to 4:00!) I realized that I am trying to "catch up" with all that has happened.  It has been less than two months since Chuck had the surgery that led to his death.  In the past two months
1. November 12rh Surgery
2, week long hospital stay
3. Thanksgiving with his family and he was improving
4. December 1st - I officiated as a funeral in Dayton for Myke O'Diam who was a young man in my youth group in Zanesville
5. December 6th - Chuck's daughter Lisa had similar surgery to Chuck and I drove to Toledo to be with her that day, arranging for care for Chuck.
6. December 8th - I planned and attended half of my annual Advent Women's retreat
7. December 9th - Chuck fell and Audrey and I took him to the Emergency room at 11:30 PM, returning home at 2:00 AM
8. December 11th - Chuck fell and the Squad took him to the emergency room where he spent the night
9. At the point Chuck has stopped eating without a lot of encouragement.  Physical therapist and occupational therapists who are coming to our home have changed their goals for him - from improvement to keeping him safe
10. December 14th - We visit our beloved Dr. Cox and she and I cry together as it is clear that Chuck is declining
11. December 16th - Many people from church come to visit - Joe prays and anoints Chuck, the pastor and Daryl bring a prayer blanket
12. December 17th Chuck falls again at 11:00 PM and the squad takes him to the hospital.  Marnie and I stay until 4 AM
13. December 18th - Kacey spends 12 hours with Chuck at the hospital and my brother and Gail arrive from New Hampshire.  For the next three days he is there and well cared for.  I go to meetings with palliative care, social workers, psychiatrists and determine the next steps.
14. December 22 - He goes to Heartland of Dublin.  I immediately hate it and the fact that he is sharing a room with a difficult roommate. Kerry and Melanie come by and encourage me to let my friends help
15. December 23th - friends come and take shifts of care for him so I can shop a little and meet with hospice.  My children and grandchildren and Dawn and Jason all say goodbye to him.
16. December 24th - I spend the morning with him, friends spend the afternoon while we have "family Christmas" and Audrey and I with Melanie and Erin spend Christmas Eve night with him.  His roommate has mercifully gone home and we talk quietly in a darkened room.  At 10:30 PM we see his breathing has changed.  Audrey tells him she loves him and I do too and encourage him to let go.  And he does.  He is gone.  Audrey and I go to Marnie's house to drink wine and cry.
17. The next days are a blur of preparation for the celebration of life.  We sift through pictures and make a photo montage, make arrangements with musicians and church people, visit the funeral home, clean the house.  And cry a lot
18. Weekend of January 4 - 6: My whole family comes for the celebration: two brothers, two sisters in law, one brother in law,  my best friend, two nieces.  We eat, drink, play games, sing, tell stories and cry.
19. January 6th - the Celebration of Life is overwhelming.  People come constantly from 1 to 3 to pay their respects and the church is full for the the service.  I see people from every part of my life and try as hard as I can to connect and to be present.
20. January 7th.  I say goodbye to family and Susan who have traveled here.  I pick up the cremains and now wear a heart with Chuck's ashes in it.

I write this and realize that so much has happened in such a short time.  I don't like the word "process" - like these is so much to "process" - like I am a machine.  Instead I say - thee is so much to remember, to savor, to feel.  To wonder at.

So many blessings, miracles, God sightings.  So much love expressed and so much grief.  I wake up now every morning grateful to be alone so I can just remember and cry for a while.  I have been aware throughout this experience that I do not grieve alone - I see my daughters, Chuck's friends, his daughter and grandchildren, my grandchildren, my friends and there are mirrors of what I am feeling.  This  garrulous, gallivanting, giving, good hearted man loved me more than I have ever been loved and he is physically gone from my life. And there is a void without a doubt.

However, as always I will say - I do not grieve like those who have no faith.  Sherie Lindamood sent me this wonderful quote by Camus which speaks to me today and every day:

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there is in me an invincible summer."  

It has been an overwhelming time in my life.  And I remain - I hope - alive and open and grateful and grieving.

Slogging Through Grief

Slogging through Grief

I read a devotional about denial and seeking the mirage that he is still here.  That is not me.

Who am I these days?  The one who is slogging through grief. Tears in the morning , afternoon and evening.  That is me.
Missing a hair appointment as I sit on the couch crying. That is me
Wondering if I am being self indulgent or healthy.  That is me
Thinking this is good.  Cry it out.  Get through it and then wondering if I should get anti depressants.  That is me.


And so I write again this morning hoping to express something of this grief that is unlike anything I have ever experienced.  Seeking the words - loss, barrenness, darkness, deep sadness.  Trying to describe to myself the veil that hangs over everything, the cloud that I am walking through, the heaviness that is within my spirit.

At the same time knowing - or trusting - the presence of God.  I sit in the living room and write and imagine that there is an angel present who is lighting a corner of the dark space.  I try to picture my spirit guides gathered and witnessing and loving me through these tears.  I see Jesus entering and coming to me and holding my hand as I silently sob yet again.  Are these the mirages or could any of this be happening?  I hope so.

I read Ann Lamott and underline these words:

"New beginnings and hope emerge, side by side with the dark and scrambled.

We get to see that we almost never really know what is true, except what everybody else knows: that sometimes we're all really lonely, and hollow, and stripped down to our most naked human selves.  It is the worst thing on earth, this truth about how little truth we know.  I hate and resent it.  And yet it is where new life rises from.

We are flattened, we come through

When we detach or are detached by tragedy or choice from the tendrils of identity, unexpected elements feed us.

We remember that because truth is paradox, something beautiful is also going on.

We water that which is dry.

Just typing this makes me breathe a little deeper and start to remember the  ways in which people help to bring light to me during this darkness.  A daughter and granddaughters who clean my house, a friend who calls, numerous cards in the mail.

I am slogging through grief to be sure.   I am flattened by grief and yet trusting always that this will pass and continue the work that God has been doing within my soul since the day I was born.

One of the great surprises of this week was a package from Amazon - a candle given to me by Brittany who is a young woman I have known from Advance Conference.  I have memories of her wedding to Dave where Chuck suddenly crashed on the floor from a broken chair.  He was - as always - a great sport and gracious as Brittany came to apologize.  I also remember the best part of weddings for us - a chance to Dance with my husband.

Here is what the candle says:

There are some

who bring a light

so great to the world

that even after they have gone

their light remains.