In life, it was mine to give you care,
a role I would never begrudge at all…
from blissful days of downy hair,
(and me ever grateful that I was there)
through years that bore fruit in a wailing wall.
image by Meghan Hessler on Unsplashthe sun has left the sky
vanishing on a sigh
while lesser stars prevail
in fading shades of pale
image by Michael Fenton on Unsplashall lives matter
black lives matter
his life matters
mine
A merry-go-round is Covid, friends.
Somehow, we will ride through it.
The CDC has put out info.
Why don’t we review it?
Every day a hundred ways to know you are gone.
Sometimes, I can’t help but wish that I could move on.
You left me with so many spaces, so many empty places,
left me with so many spaces, too many empty places.
A question in grief group last week gave me pause,
“Are you struggling more now, with Covid the cause?”
Answers varied, and yet most replies shared a thread:
We were already maxed-out on grieving our dead.
Losing children had broken us, brought us so low
that in truth, there was not that much further to go.
The Savior’s life was lived in prayer,
a custom born of love and need.
So many pains were His to bear,
so many causes His to plead.
image by Clarissa Meyer on UnsplashSolitude is so much sweeter
when it isn’t forced,
when it is freely sought
and freely ended.