I have always liked to write. Writing my thoughts is the way I comprehend how I feel. I don't write every day although I would like to. I have the idea that sitting at my desk and writing for two hours every morning would turn me into a "real" writer. Unfortunately for me, all I really want to do in the early mornings is drink coffee.
Someone just told me that she likes reading my work because she finds it comfortable and comforting. I like these definitions. I also want it to be relatable and funny and a little bit whimsical. And sometimes it is heartfelt and heartrending. This is one of those times.
I lost a dear friend a few weeks ago. She was a few years older than I am. She was a mentor as well as a friend. I am sorry that I didn't get to know her sooner. I will always miss her.
This week the granddaughter of one of my friends since childhood died in a tragic auto accident. The circumstances were much like the jury case that troubled me so much just a couple of weeks ago. What price can you put on a life? She was only nineteen. Hers was a life that was barely lived and ended before it should have been finished.
Every death, every funeral reminds us of all the others we have been a part of- our grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, friends, and colleagues. We know in our hearts that we will lose them at some point in time. But we never think that we will outlive our children. And that should not happen. As I talked to my friend today she said that a tragedy like this was what happened to other people, but not to her family. I remember when those were my thoughts too, before my son died in his sleep at the age of thirty. Yes, every death is a reminder. My mind flashes back to the night I sat at my first husband's bed and cried all night because I knew he was going to be taken off life support the next morning. So young, 19. So young, 30. So young, 62.
I ache for my young friend. I sent her family strength and prayers because Strength is what we need to get us through these times. It is almost required to send prayers. Do prayers help? I don't know. I don't believe that prayers will change an outcome. I lost that faith when my son and husband were taken from us just a few short months apart. I never got it back. I envy those who still have it, but, for me, it's gone.
I've learned some truths since I realized that death is not what happens to other people. Don't worry about having courage and being brave so that others won't be uncomfortable. Cry as much as necessary. Talk. Remember the good times. Tell your stories. Let someone listen. Say their names. Hold on to one another. Scream in a car in a dark parking lot if it helps you feel better. Drink tea.
Do whatever you need to do. Jim washed and ironed all of our son's shirts because he said that Rich wouldn't want to know they were wrinkled. I slept with my grown son's baby blanket for six months until my husband hid it away. And then he was dead two months later, so I slept with his shirt and the blanket!
My deepest griefs have been several years ago, but they never go away. Funerals always bring them back just like everything happened yesterday. I have learned to be happy again, but it is never an easy journey.
This may not have been comfortable, and certainly not whimsical, but it was a story I needed to share. Be safe everyone. I send us all Strength.
What I'm reading: I'm still enthralled with ancient Rome. Just trying to get through my library books before they are due.
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