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.
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 RemembranceJohn E. EldridgeApril 1930 May 1949
I thought:
April 1930, the happiest time of my life when my first child was born.
May 1949--the saddest.
1 comment:
Dear Deanna, this is so poignant and it is the story of all of us--that is, all of us who choose to love another. Loss is always threaded through love. Peace.
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