There are no right words, she told me.Continue reading “Loss”
The breakfast buffet is no longer self-service. It’s allowed to be unmasked to eat there. My family congregates and it’s so easy to forget – to genuinely forget – that COVID was and is.Continue reading “To remember together”
On a day when I find out that I’ve made a career-limiting (if not career-ending) mistake at work, I find out that my aunt M is gone.Continue reading “Grief”
A good friend lost their family cat of 18 years recently. They knew the time was coming, of course, which meant they could take some time to appreciate and coddle him a bit extra, before their final goodbye. Continue reading “Goodbye Banzai”
She didn’t want a funeral. A waste of money, a funeral, she’d thought.
But a gathering, a party, a celebration of life… this was more to her taste.
And so one last time, she brought us all together. In the spring, with new life.
All the jumbled feelings of losing someone, even when it’s expected. She was younger than me, with teen kids and a husband and friends without number who will feel her absence sharply. She was sicker than sick at the end, having fought the evil that is cancer with all that she had.
My memories are a mixed bag, full of all the complexities and challenges that come with such sharply different personalities, and also with all the warmth of familiarity that comes with having been in each others lives, though mostly at the periphery in our adult lives, for – well, forever from our small perspectives. All her life, all but a year of mine. Certainly as far back as we’d remember.
Sometimes we found each other challenging, but there was still always love.
I am sad, even more so for closer family and friends. Also I am relieved for her, and the end of pain and sickness. Touched to see how many she inspired in her battle. Thankful to know true perfect healing is hers now. Hopeful that we will see each other again, by grace, when we are both made perfect and are full and joyful in His presence. Happy for her, that she is there today.
Have fun with Jesus, Lora. Say hi to Mommom and Poppop for me. Give Kelly a hug. Love you.
And amid this, because there is not quite enough emotion in the day, my parents closed on their new home. It’s great and exciting and happy and feels so strange amid the other news. And even this happiness comes with just a hint of gray, that it means the days of having them here with me, sharing my place, are numbered.
It’s a day of feelings. Quite the range of them, actually.
I close my eyes, and I see her face. She is smiling; I hear her laugh. I can feel the warmth of the love — the loves I saw most: of Jesus, and of her family — that was woven into the very fabric of her being. Continue reading “Grief and hope”