sueeeus

I was going to title this “threads”, but when I fired up my computer, Pandora gave me Mason Jennings crooning something about your love.  What could I do, but comply?  It’s because, ultimately, this post will come around to being about a declaration of harmony and gratitude for such a love that I couldn’t have even imagined had I not lived the life I’ve lived.  The thread.  Mason Jennings.  One of the sweetest early memories of this present love was a silly karaoke session we had on one of our first evenings together.  It was winter time.  Possibly New Year’s Eve.  He had come over, and we were singing, but mostly I was singing and trying to get him to sing.  I can be persuasive.  Ahem.  So I eventually did get him to sing, and the song he chose was a Mason Jennings song (Your New Man –it’s a hoot!).  So.  There you go.

I’ll get back to him.  Meanwhile, I’ve just remembered the original thread I had in mind.  I was reflecting on past loves and moments.  I was thinking about the trials and lessons and various moments of beauty and pain and sorrow, and I was thinking about who remains in my life now, who has a particular place reserved in me, in my heart, just for them.  There are only a few.  I’ve always loved deeply and fully, with whomever I was loving deeply and fully at the time.  With time, however, healing has occurred and left remaining a warm and comfortable glow in which I finally see that I have lovingly let go those who needed to be let go, and loving retained in a gentle and altruistic way those who have their own special place in my life.  Everyone who has ever been has a very special place in my heart, in the depth of my memories.  But not everyone remains in my life, in my real world here and now.

I think back to the beginning.  JJW.  The father of my first two  unborn.  We were so young.  We were kids ourselves.  Those children weren’t meant to be.  We weren’t meant to be.  Yet today, here, now, we are friends.  We see a glimpse of each others’ lives from afar.  He has a wonderful wife, a true soul connection, a beautiful life that could not have been had we not been.  I am so happy that he found her and that he’s lived the rich and beautiful life that he’s lived.  Who are we to each other now?  Warm friends from childhood.  Nerds.  We reveal our stupid silly nerdy quirky selves in the occasional Facebook posts.  JJW.  Yes, he has a place in my life.  Smiley face.

Who’s next in my OCD lineup of present life former loves?  Oh.  JEM.  We text each other on our respective birthdays every year.  Every year!  Once in a while we’ll call, maybe once a year.  We inquire about family members, laugh about goofy old times, describe our children to each other.  It’s always sweet and sincere.  Genuine.  It’s especially sweet because we had ended badly, with such a sour taste remaining for so very many years.  I’m always grateful for this particular friendship, because my heart is so heavy when sourness lingers.

Then there’s DAN.  Mister Divorce Rebound.  Perhaps that’s the main reason why he lingers in the periphery of my present life, if Facebook status can be considered present life periphery.  I will probably always have a fondness for the one who gave me a glimpse of the possibilities that life held post-divorce.  Hope!  Of course we could never be, but I think we were meant to be when we were.  Maybe, also, we can be real life friends now, as with JEM, because enough years have passed to let the bitterness of the breaks fade and be replaced with the brightness of younger days.

This brings me to BXD.  Surely he’ll post a comment that I should have given him the BFD tag when I wasn’t able to google a middle initial in 30 seconds or less.  I think we each suffered our own kind of anguish and had to work through some layers of bitterness before the friendship was able to re-emerge.  I am delighted and grateful that it survives.  He is like a lifeline to me, because he understands the incomprehensible dark sides that are so  hard for anyone to understand.  He understands, because he lives with it too.  Depression.  The elephant in the room.  He is so refreshingly logical that I can fully trust that anything that I might run by him will be evaluated clearly, completely, and truthfully.  Also, our professional fields  have some overlap, so there’s something to be said about being able to talk shop.  We share sporadic flurries of email communications a few times a year.

As I’m finding these words to describe these chapters of my life, I’m counting the calendar time during which such life moments were defined.  Four years with JJW.  One year with JEM.  Four months with DAN.  Two, maybe three months with BXD.  Friendships fostered during a span of five and half years of my life.  I love that what surfaces in the here and now with all these friends is the laugh.  We chuckle.  We grin.  We snicker.  We chide.  The relationships we have are all grounded in levity and warmth.  It’s a beautiful thing.

And this brings me to the here and now, here and now.  EHB.  Nearly sixteen months and it’s as fresh and sweet and fun as the day we met.  We have so much fun together!  We laugh!  We talk for hours about all sorts of deep and interesting or crazy and ridiculous things.  We toil over projects at his place or mine, always with a smile and a spring in the step.  I wonder how much of our compatibility is merely because I finally sorted myself out.  Maybe he recently sorted himself out too, or maybe we both found ourselves ready at the same time, so somehow, miraculously, we just fit.  I don’t think I can explain it, but I certainly am grateful for it!

He’s nerdy.  I don’t know how many people actually know that about him.  I doubt very many.  He’s a cool cat on the exterior.  I love that he’s nerdy, and I love that he’s a cool cat too.

He’s thoughtful.  He’s a very internal person, so he thinks deeply about the things he thinks about.  I can take him seriously.

He’s fun.

Integrity means something to him.  I could go on and on, but I was working towards a conclusion of sorts.

The other day I told him that we should start counting down our anniversary (given that we have an anniversary), starting at 40, because it seems like we will have to be together that long in order to do the things together that we want to do.  All the books to read, the movies to see, the podcasts to hear, the places to go.  There is so much living to live!

And so I’ve finally come to the point of all this.  I’m finally here!  I wandered down paths with all sorts of twists and turns until now.  Every moment had its value.  And through it all, some friendships remain like glowing embers, softly warming the outer reaches of my heart.  I think I can say that I am truly making peace with my past, that I like my present, and that I have hope for my future.  I think I am finally on my way to getting over myself, so I am finally on my way!

Put your dreams away for now, I won’t see you for some time…
I am lost in my mind, I get lost in my mind…
Mama once told me “you’re already home where you feel loved”
I am lost in my mind, I get lost in my mind…

Oh my brother, your wisdom is older than me.  Oh my brother, don’t you worry about me!
Don’t you worry, don’t you worry, don’t worry about me…

all you need is love … love is all you need

I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Again.  I’m making a serious effort to understand myself and the way I form my thoughts and the channels that I follow… I’m very conscious of time these days. I’m very aware of the years. I’ve arrived at this place called mid-life. My indentured servitude spans nearly 30 years. I have two young children. It’s up to me to shape them, form them and prepare them for life. And how can I do that, if I don’t have it figured out myself?! There’s a whole new generation of young people in my life, looking to me for guidance, and what can I give them? I’m fumbling along under a facade waving the fake it till you make it flag and hoping that nobody notices that I really don’t have it all going on. (To be fair to myself, I do actually have almost everything going on –I’m just trying to wrangle this emotional thangggggg…..)

I’ve been thinking about human behaviors. I’ve been observing the way insecurity manifests in people and myself. I’ve been thinking about self destructive thoughts a lot lately, and wondering where they come from, why they’re there, how to obliterate them, etc… It occurs to me that they are entirely manufactured! Not that that is any big news. I’ve known that all along, but somehow I am beginning to let it sink in, that any negative thoughts originate within myself. So if they’re coming from me, I can change my mind, and turn that ship around.  Easily enough said.

Certain thought streams tend to short circuit to emotionally unattractive destinations.  I intend to repair my mother board so that my thought streams lead to healthy destinations.

One of the show stoppers is that dangerous zone of caring what others think.  Why so much concern?  Why ANY concern?  Judgment…   It’s such a slippery slope!  The reality of the matter is that I don’t know what another person thinks or feels. Those thoughts are entirely theirs. Am I spending my time passing judgment on the people in my sphere?  Or  do I simply love them?  Ummm.  I simply love them.  So, uhhhh, hello?  Stands to reason, doesn’t it, in the most simplistic way, that not too many, if any for that matter, are spending time passing judgment on me.  Why would I bother to waste any brain space on wondering or dreading what others might think of me?  Good grief! And even if I were to play the devil’s advocate, what kind of ugliness might someone dredge up on me?  Her.  Yeah her.  She goes to work every day.  Yeah.  Imagine that.  She pays her bills.  Amazing. She lives within her means.  Unbelievable.  She takes care of her family.  Whoa.  She saves for a rainy day.  What the what?  She tries to make people smile.  Crazy.  Oh sure, she gets emo once in a while. She’s a sensitive creature with an empathetic nature, so of course the travails of others can take their toll if she’s not careful, but she’s wicked smart and kind of funny, so hey.  She’s all right.  Mmmmm hmmmmm, yes ma’am.  She’s all right.

Seriously.  It’s ridiculous to waste time and life energy on wondering what others think, and worse yet, assuming what they think.  That’s a one-man-band, honey.  It’s ALL IN YOUR HEAD!!!!  SMH…

Okay.  Sure.  I have issues.  Daddy issues.  I’ve written about it before.  WHY DIDN’T HE CARE ABOUT ME?  WHY DIDN’T I MATTER TO HIM?  etc etc etc.  The thing is, I did matter to him.  I just didn’t recognize it.  Where he could display his love, affection and admiration to and for my sisters, somehow he was unable to convey it to me.  Maybe, all along, I’ve felt irrelevant only because I’m not the charming vivacious spitfires that my sisters are.  Maybe it was difficult for him to find a way to reach me.  Who knows?!  But the fact is that I’ve carried an invalid assumption along with me for most of my life, that I somehow just don’t quite measure up to what I should.  And don’t you see?  That’s the comparison game!  Comparing myself to my sisters!  We are apples and oranges (as well as peas in a pod).  Oh how I love my sisters!!!  They are amazing people!  And we are beautiful in our differences and in our similarities.  As beautiful and amazing as they are, I am as well!  I just wasn’t tuned in to the same bat channel.  So I didn’t get the message.  That is SO tragic!!!  Fifty years old and only now just dawning.

Anyway.

One way or another, this post was meant to be about love, and how you’re home where you feel loved.  All this blah blah blah about the great “why am I the way I am?” question, but the crux of the matter and the bottom line is that happiness is that place where we feel home, where we are home.

I feel home.

This.

This is what life and love are all about.  This is everything.  Now is now. I’m living it. Now! I laugh, I smile, I hug my children. I listen.  I act silly.  I cook. I eat. I work. I take care of business. I keep up my home. I do laundry. I do dishes. I love.

I am happy.

I’m tired, I’m worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world

And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause I’m worn

I’m feeling worn today.  As though the myriad fragments of thoughts of recent sorrows and former sorrows are all pooling together and finding their way to the surface, wanting to break through.  I’m feeling like a meltdown is pending.  Or else in progress.

I know that I’m tired, physically, and that a good long sleep would likely make these feelings go away.  Maybe they’re not so large at all, and would be nothing, if I could rest some more and let them drift off to a safe and peaceful place where they can feed my wisdom, but not hurt my heart.

So many of us are working through such struggles.  Some of monumental proportion. Some, not so much, but in their own estimation, they are monumental.  The struggle exists for us all.  Add to that the burden of misperceptions and misunderstandings.  All these unnecessary emotional struggles!

I think about the role I’ve played in other people’s lives.  The things I’ve done to give a helping hand.  Small things.  Big things.  In some ways and at some times it’s been sort of like helping a child learn to swing or ride a bike.  I give them a push, get them started, explain how to pump the legs or pedal the bike, so that they can go forth on their own.  Sometimes a push is all that’s needed.  And sometimes the push does little at all.  If they just move forward on the original momentum without adding their own force of pumping or peddling, whichever the case may be, inertia eventually wins and all things come to a stop.  In real life, with my own kids, in the same example of trying to teach them to swing or ride, I find myself frustrated when they give up and don’t try to propel themselves.  They want the easy road.  Mama, keep pushing!  But I don’t want to push any more.  I want them to learn and become self-sufficient.

In the adult world, I guess the wise thing to do is acknowledge that when another has allowed inertia to set them back to where they were, the consequential struggle isn’t my responsibility or my concern.  It would also be wise not to conclude that my efforts were ever wasted.  I shouldn’t rue the choices I’ve made, because always, in some manner, something positive and good comes.  Even if it doesn’t look like it, or seem possible.   Always it does.  Always.

It’s hard to watch the struggle.  I don’t know why so many people don’t believe in themselves.  What is there that can’t be done?  So much can be accomplished if one just tries.  Maybe we don’t know where to start, or how to start, but if we just try, we can get somewhere.  Maybe it’s not the right direction.  Then adjust.  And maybe that’s not quite right.  Adjust again.  Just keep on.  Almost anything is possible.

Of course, this only pertains to the struggle of managing our own lives in the realm of things that can be controlled.  It has nothing to do with the struggle of coping with things that are dumped on us from who knows where for who knows why.  Like cancer.  Or mental illness.  It’s an unfair battle.  The only thing I can see there is to do, for those who are caught in this kind of struggle, is to fight, and keep on fighting.  My heart aches and weeps for the unfair battles like these that people are thrown into.

I’m struggling with my own job of single parenting.  Wanting to nip things in the bud, and not knowing how to.  Wanting to impart harmony and peace, cooperation and consideration.  Not knowing how.

I’m struggling with my own sense of self.  I know who I am, but I wonder if anybody else does.  I spill out pages upon pages of words that describe my emotional being.  I have this cloud of emotion I’m swimming in right now, and I can’t fathom anybody else being able to understand it, and therefore understand me.  And that adds a sense of loneliness to the whole mix.  But why would it even matter if anybody understood what I feel and why?  This is just a part of me.  It’s my own journey.  It’s mine.  Why would a sense of loneliness even surface?  By definition it’s supposed to be singular.  Because it’s just me, and I am only one.  And that, by extension, makes me wonder how togetherness is possible, when it’s almost impossible to completely understand one another.  Maybe that’s the crux of it.  I want to understand (everyone, everything).  And I want to be understood.  It seems that I want the impossible, therefore the crushing awareness that what I want I can’t have.

I don’t know.  I’m blathering on about I don’t know what.  Today is my departed brother’s birthday.  Probably that has much to do with what I’m thinking and feeling.  He would be 44 today.  I miss him.

And I’m tired.

All in all, 2014 was beautifully and wonderfully life changing. Today I took a moment to open my gratitude jar, look through all the notes, and relive the joy.

a year of gratitude

I am smiling.

And so the jar, now empty, is ready to capture the joys of 2015.  It’s off to a beautiful start, and with this start, a new word to focus or define the year.  I’ve found my word for 2015.

A S S U R A N C E

Recently I had dinner with a friend.  It was nice to have some grown up time.  I sort of feel like I over-talked.  It’s such a rare occasion, to spend any one-on-one time with another adult woman.  She’s also a relatively new friend.  Most of my friends have been friends for decades and we have history together so that when we talk, I don’t feel like I over-share.  Or rather, I feel comfortable sharing.    I don’t worry too much about over-sharing on my blog(s).  I have three of them, so that I can unload to various degrees with each one.  This blog is my tried and true, but I’m too cowardly to be completely raw and honest with or about certain things.  I have a separate blog for that.  I don’t bother with stats, so I don’t know how many people read that drivel.  I also have an intermediate blog, which is a bit more anonymous than this one.  I  had intentions for that one to be a real ‘break through’ venue, in which I actually made some progress with the issues I cycle through.  It’s just more of the same drivel, though.  If I were brave, I’d just merge the three here, where people who I know In Real Life can either roll their eyes or share their lovely words of friendship, camaraderie and encouragement.

I met this friend while church hopping last year.  I call myself a Christian, but I don’t call myself a religious Christian.  I struggle sometimes with the social expectations of labeling oneself as a Christian.  If you’re a [good] Christian, you should go to church.  If you’re a [good] Christian, you should tithe.  If you’re a [good] Christian you should marry, stay married, not get divorced, and of course if you are not married, you should not indulge in the lusts of the flesh.  Ahem.  I’m clearly not a [good] Christian.

walking the line

I tend to be of the mind that all that is my business, and it’s between me and God, and not a matter for a congregation.  Maybe part of the struggle I face is that the needles of Catholic guilt are deeply rooted within me.  I’m predispositioned to be on guard and feel as though I’m on trial.

There was a time in this rocky relationship when D said (also based on counsel from his church going friends) that God was not blessing our relationship because we weren’t married and we were having sex.  Fine, I told him back then.  I’ll be supportive of his convictions and abstain.  It never lasted, however, and he may try to say it’s because of me, but I’ll maintain that it was not.  I think he’s only interested in abstinence if marriage is on the table and the abstinence has a finite [and short] limit.  Since marriage is not on the table, the prospect of ongoing abstinence is quickly discarded.  I don’t know why I’m even writing about this.  There’s not a whole lot of crazy action going on around here anyway.

I suppose it’s because of something my friend said.  She’s since tried to assure me that she didn’t mean to be judgmental or religious, and she hopes that she didn’t jeopardize our friendship by saying such.  It was just a comment about valuing myself, and honoring myself, and that being physically intimate with someone while unmarried is a disservice to my heart and to my self.  I think there was also the bit about sin and going against God’s will sprinkled in there somewhere.

I actually agree with the aspects of valuing and honoring oneself, and respecting oneself enough to make solid and sound boundaries.  I also recognize how being casual with one’s holy of holies can certainly be a disservice to one’s heart and very self.  The struggle is the marriage bit.  It’s been a struggle for most of my life.  I’ve wanted to be well married for most of my life, but the opportunity didn’t present itself when I was young, and when my biological clock was thundering loudly, I took matters into my own hands and made a poor marriage decision.  Granted, I’ve chosen not to hold any regrets for that decision, because I am blessed to be the mother of two very fine boys.  I am, however, counted among the masses of the divorced.  Now I have a broken family, and perhaps in an ideal world there would be an opportunity to marry well.  I don’t want to just marry.  I want to marry well.  Or not at all.  Therein is my quandary.  I am in a relationship.  It is rocky.  I don’t know where or how it will go, but I don’t see marriage when I look into my crystal ball.

I’m on a path of rediscovery and awakening.  I’m working on unearthing myself from where I’ve been buried for most of my adult life.  I’m taking care of me, in very small steps.  I can’t imagine being a wife, because I can’t imagine a husband.  This is all stuff that rips D’s heart, and I can hardly have a conversation with him about it. I don’t want to hurt him.  None of this has anything to do with him.  I’m not rejecting him.  I’m choosing me.

I don’t think that being serially monogamous has been that destructive to my soul.  Yes, with each relationship there has been fallout.  I’ve had to pick up the pieces of my fragmented heart and patch them back together.  Scar tissue is strong, though!  This grisly tough battle scarred heart is still beating.  Will I become celibate if this relationship ends?  Probably.  Am I ready to be celibate now?  Maybe.  If we were happier in this relationship, then definitely not.  But we’re not all that happy.  So I don’t know.  Maybe.

Where does all this leave me now?  Sinner or not, I am a child of God.  I know that  his love for me is greater than my love for my own children.  What I am going through are the growing pains of life, and I am making and learning from my mistakes, just as my own children are making and learning from their own mistakes.

Just this morning I was thinking of you.  Just the other day I was telling a friend about you and your boat.  And now, I learn that you passed away in the night.

Pete's Boat

RIP, Pete.  You shared wondrous stories of holocaust and survival, and there you were, always with a smile on your face and a twinkle in your blue, blue eyes.  You were loved by many, and I hope you weren’t alone when you took your last breath.

Shipwreck Pete

I’m honored to be counted among your friends.

RIP.

Oh, if only I had the presence of mind and discipline of emotion to hold on and ride the wave of effervescent new love, never to let go. If only. It’s so glorious, to be distracted from the confines of everyday life and whisked away to new levels of thrill. Such a fantastic high.

I wish I knew how to hold on to that, and not let the other things take root. The nits, the picks, the responsibilities, the obligations, the necessities. Not to mention the blind sided attacks of emotion, mood swings, embittered exes. The small things that turn into monumental things, like missed communications and mis-communications. Assumptions here and there. Careless! Taking things for granted. How deftly these things can creep in and take hold! One must remain vigilant, in order to keep the home fires burning strong.

Picture a potter at the wheel. The wheel spins, and the artist has the clay under control, taking shape, a beautiful form. Such a fine, fine balance, because if the artist falters for even a moment, what was a work of beauty, exquisite in form, is suddenly ruined. Ruined, in the blink of an eye. Thank God my life isn’t necessarily that extreme, and nothing is truly ruined. Oh, but there is often much damage control to be run, and the running thereof is nothing short of exhausting.

These are the four agreements. Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best. These are the things I try to remind myself, to keep myself in check.

I’m trying to be a good parent, a good role model, a good example, a good friend, a good partner, a good person. I don’t make everybody happy all of the time. I wish I could. It makes me happy, for those in my sphere to be happy, and to know that I contribute to their happiness.

Happiness should be easy. It’s all about love.

But sometimes it doesn’t seem easy at all.

Sometimes.

Maybe it’s because I am just. so. tired.

Orchids - Commissioned for my birthday by one sister and lovingly arranged and delivered by the other. Exquisite.

In the stars His handiwork I see

On the winds He speaks with majesty

When I was young, I clung to those words, and many like them.  They gave me great comfort, and grounded me.  They came from spiritual songs and they planted a seed within me that eventually took root.  In a way, I think they formed me.

~*~*~*~

I’ve been thinking a lot about my life path.  I know I’ve written about it before, when counting my blessings and contemplating gratitude.  When I put my mind in that place, I realize that every moment of trial and tribulation was a moment well spent, because each of those moments contributed to my life path that put me here, now (or there, then).  I have so much!  I have my children.  It was by no means an easy journey, and I suppose accomplished more by brute force than by faith, but accomplished just the same.  It was the dream of all dreams.  Granted, it didn’t come in the packaging I’d envisioned, but I can see now that even that near decade of a life less lived still placed me here, now.  And here, now, at this moment in time, I am effervescing with the thrill of seeing a future with endless, magical possibilities.  Here, now, at this moment in time, I am bursting with the delight of this very moment.  This.  Very.  Moment.  It takes my breath away.

~*~*~*~

I recall contrasting my marriage to the relationships of others I know, and marveling at the friendships they shared.  I recall thinking, how is it that something so simple and divine as friendship can be seemingly so readily had by all these others, but not by me?  Am I so imperious that there is no place for a meeting of the minds?  Why is it out of my grasp?  It ripped at my heart, and completely confounded me.  Ultimately, it jaded me.  I was resigned to doing what I could to make my marriage work, so I was resigned to accepting the fact that that level of intimacy was not written in the stars for me.  I was defeated.

Until.

My life path changed.

The epiphany and ensuing flurry of events that brought me here, now.

~*~*~*~

I believe in miracles.

~*~*~*~

The universe conspired so that my life and that of another collided.  We are thrilling in the joy of discovery.

~*~*~*~

We are speaking.

We are listening.

We are hearing.

We are laughing.

We are crying.

We are learning.

We are understanding.

We are smiling.

We are healing.

We are treading ever so softly, Skills and I, to gently tend this garden we are growing.

We are thanking God, and bowing down in humility, reverence, and gratitude.

My friend Skills.

~*~*~*~

I am from the old rusty bicycle dragged home from a ditch.  From Hai Karate and Bubble Yum, my mouth packed full to make sticky grape bubbles as big as my face.

I am from handprints in the sidewalk by the little yellow house hewn from my dad’s own hands, down a long country drive, empty, quiet, save garish green plastic tiles.

I am from the jade plant in the orange clay pot, ancient and dusty, perched on an old plate over a water-stained doily; from daisies that grew wild, Oregon berries and purple vetch, rolling fields and ripples of color.

I’m from Christmas at Grandma’s, home made candies, wild poker games, and turkey with all the trimmings; from mechanical aptitude, Smelly Shelley and Birgetta.

I’m from good-natured one-upmanship and preoccupation, from you are grounded and your hands are your tools, take care of them.

I am from Jesus in a white robe above Grandma’s door, arms outstretched in heaven’s holy light.

I’m from philanderers, Staples, Nixons and Knapps, from Kraft macaroni and cheese and hotdogs with sauerkraut.

From the gas-powered helicopter that Uncle George brought, carried away by the slipstream after Dad made it better, from birds nesting in Grandma’s old tea kettles that were hung from the eves, from monarch butterfly swarms and ladybugs covering the trees.

From Patton Valley Cherry Grove and Grandma’s museum once bursting with treasures from an era gone by, artifacts from pioneer days -now gone, scattered by dissent.  Lost, forever.

When the phone rings and you hear a familiar voice, the voice of someone you love, but not the one you usually speak with, you know…

You know that voice has something serious to say that you don’t want to hear, but he has to say it, and you have to hear it.  You know.  You don’t know what to say, and you don’t know what to do, so you say I love you and you say goodbye.  And your heart feels a particular anguish for him, because you know he has more calls to make, and you know what that’s like.  You’ve been in those shoes before.

And you wonder how it could possibly be, as you go about doing the things that you must do this day, as you do every other day; feeding the family, doing the dishes, washing the bedding for the fifth time this week, soothing the crying baby, expressing the milk.

And you cry a little, and try to explain to an almost four year old the concept of loss, when he’s seen far too much movie violence to understand what’s final and what is not.

And you wonder again how it could possibly be, when you’ve just seen her, and she was as she always is, smiling, gentle, kind, warm, and full of love.  How could it possibly be?  She was the first visitor when the baby was born.  She held him in her arms.  We hugged, we looked deeply into each others’ eyes and hearts, we said I love you.

And days later, only days, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and not two months later, she is gone.  How can it possibly be?

Rest in peace, Sweet One, dear Humble Seeker.  Rest in Peace.