November 11, 2011
November 24, 2011
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We have one every year, our anniversary with life, the day we were born.

But there are  other kinds of anniversaries. Weddings, life milestones, tragic events, deaths of loved ones. Many of these anniversaries are private, unnoticed by those around us. We silently remember our sisters, mothers, fathers, grandparents, babies, brothers, friends who are no longer with us, and we go forward.

Grief paralyzes. It consumes the soul like a snake consuming a tiny creature. It can swallow you whole, into a darkness that seems impenetrable.  I understand why one would observe a year of mourning. The rawness of loss lessens as the year goes by. Today is one of those silent days. Yesterday might become that sort of a day for a friend whose father just passed away. All around us, these silent days. I won’t talk about it, but I acknowledge it. I say hello to it. I remember, and I made it through the hardest part.

Mary Oliver always has words for moments like this. The glimmer of peace that is there, waiting, as I find my way back to the path, out of the forest of sadness.

After Her Death
I am trying to find the lesson
for tomorrow. Matthew something.
Which lectionary? I have not
forgotten the Way, but, a little,
the way to the Way. The trees keep whispering
peace, peace, and the birds
in the shallows are full of the
bodies of small fish and are
content. They open their wings
so easily, and fly. It is still
                 I open the book
which the strange, difficult, beautiful church
has given me. To Matthew. Anywhere.


1 Comment

  1. Bear says:

    I love you. What a difference a year makes.

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