these days: keeping and letting go

Tonight the past mid-September heavens blushed deep red between cloud fragments, darkness closing like my drained emotions -- the fumarole of core frustrations lurking and sometimes spewing. I don't know how to face life; it is too much; I am unable to fix it for everyone.

Goodnight, sky. Your embers comfort me.

During a few spare moments one summer Sunday afternoon (another summer I have missed, but it is okay, there was more rain than usual, anyway), I lifted the lid of a box Mom has saved.

My grandmother's handwriting. I well remember receiving her letters to me. Writing multiple-paged ones, in long hand, during my teenage years, in return. 

But this one came before my time. It was dated August 9, 1949.

Later in the car, I would burst into tears, relating the gist to Tim as he drove.

To her sister:

Dearest Jane, They sent us word yesterday that they were placing the marker for John's grave. So we went up this morning to see it. The markers are flat--you know, like the ones where Papa and Mama have their lot. 

It just says,

In Loving Remembrance

John E. Eldridge

April 1930      May 1949

I thought:
April 1930, the happiest time of my life when my first child was born. 
May 1949--the saddest.